


Business (Not) As Usual

by BlueMasquerade



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dcbb 2017, Dean/Cas Big Bang 2017, First Date, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, accountant!Cas, financial crimes, mechanic!Dean, small town AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-16
Updated: 2017-10-16
Packaged: 2019-01-17 23:21:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 37,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12376248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueMasquerade/pseuds/BlueMasquerade
Summary: Castiel Novak has a love-hate relationship with the Cherryvale Small Business Owner’s Association. He’s already gained new clients since becoming a member, and made many valuable connections. Cherryvale isn’t a big city by any means, nothing like Chicago. Still, it’s not exactly small town America, either.Being the new owner of an accounting services firm requires that he reach out to the local business community. Since Cas is an Introvert with a capital ‘I’, networking is high up on his list of things he detests. Still, he wants Novak Professional Accounting and Tax Services to be the first name other people think of when they need help with their books or taxes. The CSBOA seemed like the easiest and best way to accomplish that, so he started attending, and the organization has met all of his expectations.So he has nothing but a healthy respect and appreciation for the Association itself.His love/hate relationship is with his fellow members of the Association – namely one Dean Winchester, owner and operator of Winchester Automotive Repair and Restoration.





	1. January

**Author's Note:**

> I’m so excited to share my first Big Bang story!
> 
> It’s been a lot of fun writing this. Many thanks to the Dean/Cas Big Bang mods for running this challenge, and to all of the other participants.
> 
> Special thanks to Dreym, the artist who chose this story to illustrate. The pictures are gorgeous! Seeing scenes from the story I wrote come to life in original art is amazing. Here's the address to the art masterpost: (I'll change it to a link when/if I figure out html and how to do that).
> 
> http://dreymart.tumblr.com/post/166468913894/here-it-is-the-art-masterpost-for-business-not

Castiel Novak has a love-hate relationship with the Cherryvale Small Business Owners’ Association.

No, that isn’t precisely accurate. He neither loves nor hates the CSBOA itself. The Association is a useful organization, providing opportunities for networking with his fellow local small business owners. The monthly meetings are frequently interesting and educational, at least the three he has attended so far. Even when the evening’s topic is of less interest to him personally, the opportunity to talk to other people with similar interests and concerns is stimulating. 

He’s already gained new clients since becoming a member, and made many valuable connections. Cherryvale isn’t a big city by any means, nothing like Chicago. Still, it’s not exactly small town America, either.

Being the new owner of an accounting services firm in a mid-sized city such as Cherryvale requires that he reach out to the local business community. All of the books he’s read about owning his own business stress the importance of networking. Since Cas is an Introvert with a capital ‘I’, networking is pretty high up on his list of things he detests. Still, he wants Novak Professional Accounting and Tax Services to be the first name other people think of when they need help with their books or taxes. The CSBOA seemed like the easiest and best way to accomplish that, so he started attending, and the organization has met all of his expectations.

So no. He has nothing but a healthy respect and appreciation for the Association itself.

His love/hate relationship is with his fellow members of the Association — namely one Dean Winchester, owner and operator of Winchester Automotive Repair and Restoration.

Dean isn’t a client. Through casual conversation (conversations Cas was sweating through, but no one needed to know that), he had learned that Dean has an employee who does his bookkeeping, so he doesn’t need to hire out the work. His business is successful enough to employ office help in addition to the mechanics on his staff. He is charming and personable, his interactions with people easy and warm in a way that Castiel’s simply aren’t.

Cas has observed it over and over again, has even been the recipient of that outgoing charm at his first Association meeting. He remembers it like yesterday though it was last September. He’d arrived at the city hall community room, feeling shy and uncertain as he always did in new situations. He powered past it, because he refused to let his natural reticence hold him back. He’s learned how to ignore the roiling of his stomach whenever he has to call attention to himself in groups. 

He does fine in one on one situations, or with just a handful of people, especially once he gets past the initial introductions. But crowds make him feel sick, and going up to speak to someone, inserting himself into a conversation, introducing himself without an invitation? He gets heart palpitations, he breaks out into a cold sweat, and he feels like he’s going to throw up. 

At that first CSBOA meeting he’d looked around the room for a place to sit. Clearly most of the people already knew each other. There were a few open chairs beside people who’d already arrived. There was also a whole table near the back that no one else had yet claimed, calling out to him like a siren. If he sat there, he could wait, and when the room filled up someone else would have to take one or both of the other empty chairs. On the other hand, maybe these meetings weren’t that crowded, and no one would take the chairs. Cas would be sitting awkwardly by himself while a murmur of conversation ebbed and flowed around him and he pulled out his pen to jot down notes. He did that because having something to do with his hands helped a little with the nerves, but his brother Gabriel pointed out that it closed him off from his environment and he might as well tape a big ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on his back. 

Gabe had made him promise not to take out his legal pad and pen until the program started.

Cas took Gabe’s advice with a grain of salt. Sometimes it was outrageous, but in this case he knew Gabe was right. Gabe had all of the social skills that Cas lacked. Before he’d chosen a seat, Dean had appeared next to him, introduced himself, and offered him a chair beside himself and a bubbly redhead named Charlie Bradbury, who ran a small consulting business specializing in helping people set up and run their websites. He’d taken it upon himself to introduce Castiel to a number of other people as well, and his welcome had gone a long way towards making Cas feel that joining the Association had absolutely been the right decision.

From a professional standpoint.

From a personal standpoint? That was the day he’d developed a huge, instantaneous, unrequited crush on Dean Winchester.

Thus the love/hate relationship with the CSBOA. 

 

It's the third Thursday of January, and therefore tonight is the night of the CSBOA meeting. Cas glances towards the corner of his desktop monitor to check the time. 5:45.

Hannah looks over from her desk, where she’s packing up for the evening. She’s been working later but she has a family and wants to be home with them for dinner. She often takes work home with her this time of year. Cas doesn’t mind. He would hate to lose her, and he understands the importance of work/life balance. She’s good at her job, works fast and efficiently. He’s grateful that she decided to stay when he bought the practice from the previous owner. He doesn’t know what he would have done without her and Joshua. Managed, he supposes, but everything would have been much more difficult. 

“Going to the meeting tonight?”

He looks at the legal pad beside his keyboard, at the stack of manila folders on the other side, and frowns. “I have a lot of work.” The thought of skipping this month's meeting is disappointing, but January is insanely busy in accounting . Most clients run on a calendar year for their books, and those who are big enough to want audited annual financials have deadlines he has to meet. He gives a small discount to the clients who can wait a little longer for their numbers, but that just pushes the busy season out.

It's good for business, but it means there are a lot of long hours and late nights from New Year's through tax filing in mid April. He hired Rachel to enhance the tax practice. He knows a little about taxes, but not that much more than any reasonably logical person who’s good with numbers would be. Certainly not enough to be willing to sign his name to someone else’s returns. 

Hannah finishes packing her bag and reaches for her coat. “You should go. You were saying you were looking forward to tonight’s presentation, weren’t you? Thought it could be useful?”

“Yes, that’s true. First Bank of Cherryvale is putting on a presentation about various financing options. I expect it will be a sales pitch as much as anything, but it’s good to stay abreast of what’s out there.” 

“So you should go. It’s just a couple hours, Castiel. It’ll be worth it. You could use some face time with people other than colleagues and clients.”

He makes a small snorting sound, but she isn’t wrong.  _ Dean _ , he thinks, and feels the back of his neck grow warm with guilt. Dean isn’t the only person he enjoys talking to at the meetings. Charlie is warm and kind and welcoming. He likes to think they are friends, if only of the casual acquaintanceship variety. 

“It  _ is _ a topic I’m interested in,” he allows. “I suppose I can just work a little extra this weekend.” 

“Extra would imply you weren’t already planning to spend most of the weekend with your nose buried in financials.”

He directs a glare in her direction, but she just laughs and wraps her red scarf around her neck. “Have fun. And don’t forget to eat something first.” 

Joshua has already left for the day, as has Rachel. Thursdays are when Joshua has his band practice; he plays trumpet with a jazz quintet, and sometimes has small gigs in and around Cherryvale. Rachel has a young family like Hannah. Part of the reason she’d left her old position to work with Cas was because he was willing to be  flexible with her working at home so that she could be there for her family . 

When the door closes behind Hannah, Cas finishes double checking the numbers on his spreadsheet to find out where his error is. The cross-check numbers aren’t tying out, which means he typed something wrong when he was transferring numbers from one source to another. There, that’s where it is. Transposition error; he’d typed 14 cents as 41 cents. Easy enough to fix. Saving and closing his work, he checks the time again. It’s after six now. Definitely no time to stop at the diner down the street if he wants to make it to the meeting on time. 

Missouri Moseley, the president of the CSBOA, reminded him of his fourth grade teacher whenever anyone walked in late. She didn’t say anything, but the look she directed at the transgressors was enough to make most of them hunch their shoulders and avoid her gaze. He doesn’t plan to willingly subject himself to that. The low level tingle he feels just being in the same room as Dean Winchester is quite enough to make him feel like an adolescent. He doesn’t need anything else adding to it. 

That limits his choices for a meal, though. There will be some sort of snack at the break after the speaker, but cookies and soda aren’t exactly the best nutrition choices. He opens his lower desk drawer and grabs a protein bar. Good; it’s one of the dried fruit varieties, with raisins and cranberries. He likes them best, though honestly he isn’t a fan of any of the varieties. They have a weird aftertaste, but at least his stomach won’t make noises in the middle of the meeting.

  
  


It’s a three block walk to City Hall from his office. The wind knifes through the gap between his scarf and his neck, making him reach up to tuck it down into his collar. He lives four blocks away from the office, and rarely drives even when it’s bitterly cold like today. City Hall is three blocks, but in the opposite direction. The distance in January certainly feels much farther than it did in September.

Last fall he enjoyed the walk, when the weather was pleasantly cool. It’s not so pleasant now, but at least the way is well lit — and it certainly encourages him to move at a brisk pace. 

He arrives at City Hall and makes his way to the community meeting room in the lower level. It’s used for committee meetings, and sometimes for public hearings. Those are never on the third Thursday of the month, though.

There wasn’t a meeting in December because of the holidays. So it’s been… he does quick mental math, something that’s easy for him, though slightly more difficult with dates than with dollars. It’s been nine weeks since he’s seen Dean. 

He makes it to the back entrance to City Hall, unwinding his scarf as soon as the door closes behind him. The meeting room is a short distance down the hall; he can see light and hear the sound of people chatting before the official start of the meeting. He pauses inside, stripping his leather gloves off of his hands and tucking them into his pocket before unbuttoning his coat.

Scanning the room, he spots Dean and Charlie at their usual table. His heart gives its usual little flip at the sight of Dean leaning back in his chair, flipping his pen end over end while he talks to Charlie. The man is unfairly gorgeous. His dark green work shirt isn’t that tight, but still admirably shows off his broad shoulders and hints at the muscles of his biceps. He’s a mechanic; he works with his hands. That does a whole lot more for building muscles than studying spreadsheets does. Cas runs when he can. He prefers to run outside, but in the winter sometimes he will settle for the treadmill to keep in shape when it's just not pleasant to be outdoors. 

He likes Charlie, he does, but he’s also just a little bit jealous of her. Who is he kidding? More than a little bit. He’s been trying to figure out the nature of their relationship since that first meeting, without being so crass as to outright ask. Are they a thing?

He’s never been good at seeing the context clues that reveal whether or not people are romantically involved with each other unless they’re blatantly obvious. He can tell that Dean and Charlie are close. He’d have to be blind to not see that, the way they’re always together when he arrives, and the way they interact. But what kind of close? With the way she’ll punch him in the arm or tease him, it seems more friendly than romantic, but he’s just so bad at reading people. He’s almost positive that Dean is straight, but it’s the  _ almost _ that is challenging.

Charlie looks over and spots Cas. Her brilliant smile lights up her face and she half stands, waving at him and pointing at the empty metal chair beside her. He raises his hand in acknowledgment. He unwraps the wool scarf from around his neck, carefully folding it and sliding it into the pocket of his overcoat before hanging the coat on the rack with the other outerwear. 

He moves past a couple of the other members in the narrow space between the tables in one row and the chairs in another. “Excuse me. Pardon me. Sorry.” Getting to the empty chair, he pulls it out and seats himself to Charlie’s left, while Dean is to her right.

Dean leans past Charlie, a smile of welcome on his too-perfect face. 

Honestly, how can anyone be that gorgeous? 

“We were beginning to think you weren’t going to make it, man,” he says, his slightly raspy baritone going straight to Cas’ groin. 

Dammit. Inappropriate reactions. All the man did was talk! And, of course, made eye contact. No one else has eyes quite like Dean Winchester, summery green with flecks of sunny gold, long lashes sweeping over his boyishly freckled cheeks. 

“January,” Cas replies succinctly, as though nothing more is needed.

“And?”

Charlie elbows Dean, hard enough that he grunts. “Dude. Accounting.”

It takes a moment, but Cas can see precisely when Dean connects the dots. “Ah, yeah. Year end, huh?”

“Yes.” He opens his briefcase and pulls out the legal pad and Cross pen he’d gotten as a Christmas gift from his employees. Cas hopes that if they notice the flush on his cheeks they’ll attribute it to the cold weather outside, rather than his pleasure at being with them. With Dean. 

He is so fucked.

He rubs his hands together briskly. They’re still cold from the walk outside, even with the gloves. He notices that both Charlie and Dean have paper thermal cups on the table in front of them, steaming. “Oh. Coffee.” He looks around and spots the big stainless steel coffee pot in the back of the room.

“I’ll get it,” Charlie offers, bouncing up with far too much energy for this late in the day. Of course she probably hasn’t been staring at numbers since 6:30 this morning, trying to force them into orderly ranks and make them agree with each other even when they don’t want to. “Cream and sugar?”

“Yes please, one of each. Thank you.”

“Coming right up.”

“You look like you need it,” Dean says. “The coffee, I mean. January’s really that bad, huh?”

“It’s probably worse this year,” he admits. “I haven’t been through year-end with any of these clients, so I have to learn everything. Study their numbers from last year and understand how they like to see their reporting. There are certain standard rules that apply, but there’s some leeway within them. None of my clients are public corporations. Usually they need the numbers as part of their loan agreements with the banks, which creates some boundaries, but even so, each client has its unique challenges. And I’m sorry, you’re probably not interested in that.”

“No, I am. Never thought about it, I guess. I mean, I’ve been lucky enough to not have to get any big loans from the bank, and the ones I’ve taken have been personal loans rather than in the name of the company, so…” He shrugs. “Been thinking about it, though. There are some things I’d like to do with the restoration side of the business, and it’s going to take some investment. I thought I’d be there by now, but I’m a little short so I’m considering a few options. So tonight’s topic may actually be relevant for me sometime this year. Sammy’s been pushing me to get moving on it.”

“Sammy?”

“My brother. He’s on about ‘pursuing your dreams, you’re too young to settle, Dean’, all that earnest encouragement. Sometimes it makes me want to barf, but, well, he’s not completely wrong.” He shrugs a shoulder, somehow managing to look abashed. There’s a fond light in his eyes, though, so Cas deduces that the exasperation is more for show than his real opinion.

Charlie returns, setting the coffee in front of Cas before settling into her chair. He wraps his hands around it, sighing in pleasure as the warmth seeps into his skin. 

“Why are you so cold, anyhow?” she asks. “It’s not that far from the parking lot to the building.”

“I walked from my office. It’s just a few blocks away, and I didn’t drive to work anyhow.” He shrugs one shoulder, then takes a sip of the coffee. It’s not good coffee. It’s overly bitter even with the cream and sugar, but it’s hot and it spreads warmth as it goes down his throat. 

“Dude, but that means you have to walk home again afterwards!” Her eyes go wide, and she reaches over to shove against Dean’s shoulder. “You’re giving him a ride. Both of us. We can drop him off before you take me home.”

Alarm bells start ringing in Cas’ head and he can feel his cheeks start burning. Getting a ride home with Dean? In Dean’s car? In his personal space? Dean is a mechanic and restores classic cars. Surely his car is far more to him than simply a means of transportation. Getting a ride smacks of an intimacy that Cas isn’t sure he can bear, even if it’s just a friendly gesture.

“Oh, that isn’t—”

“Sure, I can do that.”

“It’s only a few blocks. I’ve walked it plenty of times before. It’s not a problem.”

“But it’s going to be colder and darker,” Charlie points out. “Nope. Can’t let you do it, dude. Not that late at night, not when you’ve been working all day. You will say thank you now, Cas, and graciously accept an offer extended in friendship.” Her tone becomes regal and imperious.

Dean laughs. “You’d better give in, Cas. The Queen has spoken.”

Cas huffs out a breath which isn’t exactly agreement, but isn’t exactly a refusal, either.

Missouri Moseley steps up to the front of the room and looks around, using her gaze to gather everyone’s attention like errant schoolchildren, then launches into her quick welcome speech and the introduction to today’s speaker.

This month’s speaker is a representative from the local bank, sharing information about small business financing options available. Naturally enough the products discussed are those the bank itself offers. Many times these presentations are thinly disguised marketing spiels, but that doesn’t mean the information isn’t ever worthwhile on its own. Cas dutifully takes notes, detailed as always, especially about newer products he isn’t as familiar with. Being an accountant means that he needs to understand how these products work so that he can report them properly. He isn’t technically a financial advisor, but he can address the accounting implications of different options. Sometimes that comes close to advice. Cas asks a few questions to clarify points he doesn’t entirely understand. He finds the presentation interesting, and the banker — Andrea Ellison — is someone he will be adding to his list of contacts. She seems friendly and knowledgeable. He may even recommend her to some of his clients. 

Out of the corner of his eye he notices Dean flipping his pen over and over his fingers, twirling it, clicking it repeatedly. The notes he takes are minimal, and interspersed with doodles that look suspiciously phallic. After a while the guy in the row ahead of them turns to glare at Dean. “Do you mind?” he hisses. “Some of us are trying to pay attention here.”

Dean blinks slowly, with exaggeration. Cas doesn’t remember the man’s name for sure. Tyler? Tyson? Tyson. That’s it. Tyson Brady. He’s an insurance agent, and a pompous jerk.Tyson scowls.

Dean clicks his pen one more time before putting it down.

Dean Winchester, Cas thinks, is a curious mixture of maturity and immaturity.

When the presentation is over, Ms. Moseley calls a fifteen minute break before they return for other business. Cas briefly considers going to speak more with the banker, but that would mean sacrificing some of his time with Dean, and he isn’t willing to do that. He has the banker’s contact information. He can call her later, after the worst of the year-end frenzy, and have a more leisurely conversation. Yes, that is by far the better option.

He shifts in his chair to angle more towards Dean and Charlie. Charlie stands up. “My turn to fetch the goodies, I think. Be right back.” She flashes her bright smile, rubs each of them on the shoulder affectionately before heading off. Cas starts in surprise. People don’t usually touch him, and certainly not with such an easy familiarity. Usually it makes him uncomfortable, but somehow with her it’s fine.

“So how are you holding up during the madness that is Year End?” Dean asks, leaning back in his chair. His oh-so-green eyes sparkle with his perpetual expression of amusement, as though he knows something no one else does. It’s impish, and after growing up with Gabriel as a brother, Cas should not find  _ impishness _ even remotely attractive. He clenches his teeth together.

“That good, huh?”

Confused, Cas tips his head to the side. “Oh. Year End. I apologize; I was briefly distracted.” He can feel his face heating up. Is he doomed to always feel like an awkward adolescent around this man? “Year end is progressing as expected. It’s very busy, but objectively that is a good thing, because it means we have enough clients to be very busy. There will be long hours from now until tax day, though there will be a slight lull in mid February.”

“Yeah, but that’s not what I asked, Cas. I asked how you’re holding up, not whether or not it was busy. You.” He lightly pokes Cas in the bicep. “You treating yourself okay? Or are you forgetting to eat and stay hydrated?”

“Oh.” He was asking about Cas. In a personal sense, not a business sense. The warmth in his face expands, spreads down through his chest, warming him up all over. The thought that Dean cares enough to ask is touching. His body’s over-enthusiastic response to the indication Dean cares is embarrassing. “I may have missed the occasional meal.”

Right then Charlie reappears, claiming her chair between the two and setting down her stack of napkins bearing various bars and cookies. Then she reaches into her pockets to produce three bottles of water, and an apple that she places in front of Cas. “Because I’ll bet my left… ear that you haven’t eaten dinner yet.”

“Your ear is safe. As well as whatever other body part you originally intended to wager. Thank you, Charlie.” He picks up the apple, rubs it on his shirt, and takes a bite. It’s a winter apple and a bit on the mealy side, but after that god-awful protein bar it tastes heavenly.

“Water?” Dean complains. 

“Shut it, Winchester. I wasn’t about to try and carry three cups of coffee along with the rest of the stash. If that’s what you want you can go get it yourself.” 

He grumbles, but cracks open the cap of the water bottle and takes a long pull from it. He glances at Cas, then back at the bottle. “Too bad they don’t provide beer here. You want to grab a cold one after the meeting’s over?” His tone is casual. Charlie’s eyes widen and her mouth forms an ‘o’ before she schools her expression into neutrality. 

Why yes. Cas wants to do that. This is the first such invitation that Dean has ever offered, though Cas has fantasized about asking Dean out since that first meeting, if he’s honest with himself. His courage always abandons him before he can follow through. He wants to go, but it’s January, and even taking the time to attend this meeting makes him feel vaguely guilty.

_ Don’t be an idiot _ , he oddly hears his brother Gabe’s voice in his head. 

His whole body feels hot. It’s just an offer of friendship, it can’t possibly be more than that, but… but what’s wrong with that? He doesn’t have any true friends here in Cherryvale yet. He has his colleagues, but they’re employees, and that necessarily creates some distance, especially when he’s so bad at emotional engagement anyhow. 

He might want more from Dean, but he can settle for this. His mouth feels dry, though, and his heart is pounding. “Thank you. I would enjoy that.”

Dean looks surprised, but then he smiles that big, friendly, open grin. It makes his eyes sparkle, and it’s just so damned amazing that Cas can’t breathe. Dean taps Charlie on the arm. “You hear that? He said he’ll come.”

“I did hear that, yes. Awesome!” She squeezes Cas’ forearm briefly. 

He manages a slight smile, barely there, but he thinks he sees something flicker in Dean’s eyes in response.

 

Once the meeting is over, the three of them find their coats on the coat rack and head out to the parking lot. Cas follows behind Dean and Charlie, half listening to the stream of chatter Charlie throws out, about the meeting and about where they should go for their beer, and then laughs because  _ of course  _ they’re going to the Roadhouse, is there any other option? 

Dean stops beside a long black beast of a car. “This is yours?” Cas asks.

“Yep,” he says, popping the ‘p’, an expression of fond softness on his face as he runs a caressing hand along the roof of the car. “This is Baby. She’s a ‘67 Chevy Impala, and my pride and joy.”

“He’s not joking,” Charlie informs him. 

“I didn’t think he was. She is beautiful.” 

Dean flashes him a grin, clearly pleased that his baby is receiving proper appreciation. Charlie opens the back door and scoots in, leaving the front for Cas. He carefully gets in, not wanting to track excess snow or grit into the car. 

“I’ve had her ever since I can remember. Technically she was my parents’ car when I was little, I suppose, but she’s been officially mine since I turned eighteen.” A brief shadow crosses his face, quickly chased away. “I was working on her engine, doing oil changes and stuff, before I could drive.”

“And driving a bit before it was legal,” Charlie pipes up from the back.

“Well, yeah. Maybe.” Another grin, and lord, there should be some sort of a law against those. 

Dean shifts into gear and they drive the short distance to the Roadhouse.

“Ever been here before?” Dean asks as they go in and find a booth towards the back of the bar. He waves to a woman behind the bar, and to one of the servers as well, both of whom smile and wave back at him.

Cas thinks about it. “Twice. Once for lunch shortly after I bought the practice, as an introduction to the employees. Once with my brother when he was here for a visit. I recall they have excellent burgers.”

“Dude, yes. Almost as good as mine.”

The server shows up as he’s saying that and swats him with her towel. “Ouch! Jo!”

“You learned how to make burgers from my mom.”

“Well, yeah, but mine are still better. But only because I’m making them in smaller batches so I buy the more expensive beef.”

She regards him, gaze narrowed, before shrugging one shoulder. “Okay, I’ll give you that. You eating anything, or just a drink? And hi. I’m Jo.” That last she directs towards Cas.

“Castiel Novak,” he introduces himself.

“Oh, the accountant guy?”

Cas raises his brow at that, not having expected to be recognized in any form. Dean pulls out a menu and looks at it, his head tipped down. Charlie laughs. 

“Um, yes?”

Jo grins. “Dean may have mentioned you once or twice.”

That surprises Cas. He made enough of an impression on Dean that he would mention him to someone that was clearly a friend? 

“You want anything to eat, Cas?” Dean says, about as obvious of a redirect as he could possibly make. “Or just the beer?”

“It’s later than I usually eat, but if you don’t mind the extra time I would like a burger.” His stomach growls to emphasize the point. He hadn’t eaten anything substantial since lunch, and lunch was earlier than usual.

“I don’t mind. Boss won’t do anything if I wander in a little late tomorrow.” 

“I thought you owned the business.”

Dean gives him a look.

“Oh.” He feels a bit foolish. He hates it when he’s slow on the uptake. It can make him an easy target, particularly for Gabriel. It’s not that he’s stupid. His intelligence tests have always come out well above average. He just doesn’t naturally think that way, so it requires effort, and… well. It’s embarrassing.

Charlie nudges him. “No worries.” She starts chatting about this and that: movies that came out during the holiday season, television shows she is a fan of, video games and whether or not they’re worth playing. It’s a steady flow of conversation that washes over him, not requiring his participation, which is a good thing once his burger arrives. He discovers that he’s ravenous, and not having to talk means he can eat with more focus. 

He catches Dean watching him, and flushes, slows down. Dean shakes his head slightly, though Cas isn’t entirely sure what he means by that. Is he turned off by how Castiel eats? He didn’t think he was being exceptionally messy; he grew up in a household where table manners were important, so even if he’s eating quickly he thinks he’s not been too messy or uncouth. But then Dean smiles, and his brain turns to mush.

Dean didn’t order a burger himself, although he stared longingly at the menu for a long time before settling on just a slice of pie. “Awesome pie,” he comments. “You ever have it here?”

“No, I can’t say that I have.” 

“Here. You have to try a bite.” He reaches for a clean fork and cuts off a piece on the far end of the pie, away from where he’s been eating, and hands it over to Cas. 

Cas takes a bite, and yes. “Oh. This is amazing.”

“I know, right?”

Charlie rolls her eyes. “Dean is kind of easy when it comes to pie.”

“I am not. I mean, yeah, I’ll try any pie I see, but I know the difference between a good pie and an average pie. And this, my friends, is way at the top of the heap.”

Cas files that away, along with all of the other small things he’s learned about Dean Winchester. Dean is inordinately fond of pie. Dean loves his car. Dean has a brother named Sam. And when Dean laughs, Cas feels happiness glowing inside him.

 

Cas is smiling when he lets himself into his apartment that evening, after Dean and Charlie drop him off. He has a pleasant warm feeling going from the beer — just one, since it was so late and tomorrow is still a work day — and an even more pleasant warmth from the company. 

Benford is sitting up on the sofa, looking at Cas with his best evil cat glare. “I’m sorry I’m late,” Cas apologizes, pausing to hang up his coat in the closet. “I’ll get your food bowl filled, just let me put the coat away and …” He toes off his shoes and arranges them on the closet floor before going to scratch Benford behind the ears. The cat narrows his topaz eyes, but allows the caress briefly before jumping down and trotting off to his food bowl, where he stares Cas down.

“Yes, okay.” Cas sighs and obeys the command, filling the food dish and replacing the water with fresh. 

He loosens his tie and leans back against the kitchen counter. “I had a late dinner with Dean and Charlie,” he tells the cat. It’s another thing that sometimes makes him feel foolish, but, well, there’s no one else here after all. Which is the primary reason he talks to the cat anyhow. There aren’t any other options. He could call Gabriel, he supposes, but this is not the sort of ammunition he would freely hand over to his well-intentioned brother. At least he charitably tells himself that Gabe is well-intentioned. He may just enjoy hassling Cas too much for his intentions to be anything other than getting a reaction. “You remember me telling you about them before. It was just a friendly dinner, but I had a good time. So that’s why I was late. I hope it happens again, though I don’t know if it will.” 

He sighs and turns to the sink, washing his hands. It may not happen again, but he’ll enjoy this warm feeling for as long as he can.


	2. February

Cas’ car is making a strange noise. It’s Tuesday morning, and he needs to run his weekly errands. He generally does them on Tuesdays because it’s so much faster than trying to get his shopping done on the weekends when everyone else is, and he’s usually working on the weekends anyhow this time of year, so it’s just more efficient.

His refrigerator is distressingly bare, and perhaps even more troubling, Benford’s food is almost out. Cas does have a genuine desire to keep his cat healthy and well fed, but also? Benford has an amazing ability to communicate his displeasure when his food bowl is not sufficiently full, or if, heaven forbid, he can see the bottom of the bowl. Cas isn’t entirely sure how he ended up with a tyrannical feline for a housemate.

Maybe the noise the car is making isn’t anything important. It doesn’t sound good, though. It makes this weird sound when he turns the key, and it takes too long for the engine to catch. 

“I don’t have time for this,” he groans, banging his head twice against the steering wheel. He has a routine, one that works well for him, but when things like this happen his routine gets all messed up and it unsettles him for the entire day.

Sitting and letting himself get annoyed isn’t going to accomplish anything, though. Times like these are when he misses being in a relationship. There were a lot of things that went wrong, but who would have guessed that having someone to call and complain to about trivial annoyances was so important?

He could ignore it, but he’s done that before and paid the price. Far better to get someone to take a look at it.  _ Someone _ , in this case, almost has to be Dean Winchester. Cas’ heart skips a beat at the thought. Dean isn’t the only mechanic in town. Cherryvale is large enough to ensure that. There are a couple chain shops. But he couldn’t possibly do that. He knows that it’s a struggle for sole proprietorships to operate in a world increasingly dominated by regional and national companies who can get bulk pricing. 

He doesn’t know, but he suspects, that the encroachment of those chains is a big part of why Dean is trying to expand the restoration side of his business. He probably has a challenge meeting the pricing the competition can offer for routine repairs and service, but restorations are a niche business, where quality and craftsmanship matter. 

Not that any of that is relevant. There is no chance that Cas will take his car to one of the chains, not when Dean is an option. He sighs, pulls out his phone and looks up the address of Dean’s shop, and how to get there. He doesn’t completely know his way around Cherryvale yet, though he’s getting better. He can easily get to the important places he frequents often, and he knows where most of his clients are. He knows he’s seen Dean’s shop, before, as well. It’s near one of his clients.

Only thing is, he doesn’t remember which client until he pulls up the information.

It’s not that far, thankfully. He pulls into the parking lot and heads inside, looking around curiously. He doesn’t see Dean right away, but there are some photos on the wall behind the service desk, and there’s a picture of him there, grinning a little self-consciously, dressed in a simple light blue work shirt with ‘Winchester Auto Repair and Restoration’ embroidered across the breast in navy blue thread.

The man behind the service counter looks over and nods in welcome, not managing a smile. It’s not unfriendly, just not warm and welcoming. His hair is a little wild, as though he took a shower and didn’t bother to try and tame it afterwards. His shirt is untucked and untidy, rumpled. He has one of those name patches affixed above his breast pocket. It says ‘Marv’ in machine script.

“Hello,” Cas says.

“Hi there, be right with you,” he says, typing something into the computer. He finishes and looks up. “Do you have an appointment?”

“No, but I was hoping to make one. My car is making a funny noise.”

Marv rolls his eyes, and Cas supposes that’s something he hears a lot. It makes him feel vaguely embarrassed that he doesn’t know enough about cars to be more specific. But if he did, would he have to bring it in for service?

“I’ll see when we have any openings. It might be awhile.”

The muffled sounds from the garage bay get louder when the swinging door between the customer service area and the garage opens. Dean steps through with a clear plastic envelope in his hands.

Cas’ pulse immediately races. Dean fills the room when he steps into it, his energy practically glowing. He’s looking at notes on the paper inside the envelope with a slight frown creating a wrinkle at the bridge of his nose. The fluorescent lights overhead aren’t flattering, but he still manages to look ridiculously appealing. The spattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks have a smudge or two of motor oil adding extra patterns. He’s wearing a dark blue coverall over his clothes, with the company logo stitched in white this time. 

He looks up and sees Cas, his beautiful green eyes immediately lighting with pleasure, the frown turning into a welcoming smile. “Cas! Hey there, man, what brings you here?”

“A funny noise,” Marv says. Cas tries to be kind and give people the benefit of the doubt, but he’s fairly certain there’s a healthy dose of ridicule in his tone. 

Dean shoots him a look. “I got this one, Marv.”

Marv shrugs his rounded shoulders, grabs a stack of papers from a metal tray, and shuffles back to the office.

Dean slides the plastic envelope somewhere behind the counter, then steps around front. “It’s good to see you, man. It’s been a couple weeks. Still crazy busy?”

“Yes, it is. Long hours, working weekends, but we’re making progress.”

“Would’ve thought you’d be in the office right now.”

“I actually try to run my weekly errands on Tuesday mornings. I’ve found that many places are less crowded, which means I can get in and out much faster than on the weekend. Grocery shopping takes me a fraction of the time. So in the end it is much more efficient to shop on Tuesdays and work on Saturdays. At least, it’s more efficient when my car is working properly.” He glares out the plate glass in the general direction of his car.

“Well, you’re in the right place for that. At least you got it here without a tow, that’s something. What seems to be the problem?”

“As your employee said, it’s making a ‘funny noise’.”

Dean chuckles. “Yeah, those are a bitch. Hopefully it’s not one of those intermittent funny noises that refuses to show up as soon as you get someone over to check it out. Those are the worst. Let’s go take a look.”

Cas follows Dean out to the parking lot, then takes the lead, pointing out his brown Camry. It’s a ‘98, old but generally reliable. He feels vaguely as though he’s disappointing Dean by owning something so uninteresting. 

Dean gestures for him to get in. “Let’s hear her.” 

Cas turns the key and cringes at the grinding noise it makes before it catches. Dean pops the hood and listens more closely, likely watching something too. “Okay,” he calls, loudly enough to be heard over the engine noise. “Shut her down.” 

He comes back around and opens Cas’ door, holding it while he gets out. “Well?”

“You’re right. It’s making a funny noise.” He grins, a spark of mischief in his eyes.

“Dean.”

“I’ll have to take a closer look, but I’d lay odds on it being the starter. Have you ever had that replaced before?”

“Um, I don’t think so? I’m not sure. It was ten years old when I got it. It’s mostly been a reliable car.”

“Yeah, that’s one thing they’ve got going for them. They’re mostly reliable.”

“Why am I hearing ‘but they’re butt ugly’ behind your words?”

Dean laughs. “I would never say anything like that to a customer.”

Cas arches a brow at him, and he laughs again. 

“Come back inside, I’ll get some info from you and then I’ll slide you into the schedule. I’ll give her a check-up while she’s here, see what else might need replacing soon and what just needs a little maintenance. How long has it been since you’ve had her serviced?”

“I get the oil changed regularly. The last time was shortly before I moved here. I got a tire rotation and a general maintenance check done then, since it was going to be a longer than usual drive.”

Dean steps behind the counter and brings up the computer system. “There’s coffee if you want some. It’s not very good, but it’s hot. So if we keep your car, how are you getting your errands run?”

“I can put most of them off.” He does still have some food, but his options will be severely limited. He’ll just have to eat out, he supposes, at one of the establishments within walking distance. 

“And getting to the office?”

He sighs. “I can call in, Hannah or Joshua can come pick me up. It’s not that far.”

“I’d offer you our loaner but I just gave it out yesterday,” Dean apologizes. “Okay, I just need a few things from you.” He takes down Cas’ address and the phone numbers he can be reached at, cell primarily but also the office number, jots down a few notes, and asks for the key. 

“I’ll give you a call once I’ve given her a more thorough checkup, sound good?”

“That sounds wonderful, thank you. And thank you for making room for me. It looks like you’re busy.”

“Hey, there’s always going to be room for a friend.” He hesitates, his fingers tracing a scratch in the countertop. “Hey, Cas? Is it okay if I put your cell in my personal phone?”

An unexpected bubble of warmth forms in Cas’ chest, and he can’t entirely contain his smile. “Yes, that would certainly be okay.”

Dean grins. “Awesome.” He pulls his cell out and immediately enters the info, then sends a quick text. Cas’ phone buzzes in his pocket. “And there’s mine.”

Okay, back to being in high school. Just getting a friend’s phone number should not, should  _ not _ , make him feel this ridiculously happy. He stares at Dean with a goofy smile for longer than he should, flushing and pulling out his phone when he realizes what he’s doing.

The door to the garage bay swings open again. A shorter, awkwardly angular man pokes his head through the opening. “Hey, Dean, when you’ve got a minute can you come look at the mini-van with me? There’s something a little weird about it.”

“Sure thing, Garth, I’ll be right there.”

“Thanks, boss-man.” Garth beams and gives a friendly wave to Cas before returning to his work.

Cas picks up his cell and calls the office phone. Hannah picks up, and he makes quick arrangements for someone to come get him. Dean waits until he’s done. “All set, then?”

“Yes, Hannah will be here in ten to fifteen minutes.”

“Awesome. Make yourself at home. We’ve got a couple magazines, as you no doubt can see. And feel free to change the channel on the TV if that’s more your cup of tea. Coffee, water, and if you’d rather have soda we’ve got some in the back.”

“Coffee will be fine, thank you.”

“I’d better get back to work. I’ll call as soon as I know anything.”

“Of course. Thank you.” 

“Hey, any time, dude. Any time for you.”

Cas, unfortunately, can’t see into the garage bays to watch Dean work, so he has to use his imagination. He shouldn’t be trying to use his imagination. It is entirely inappropriate, and it’s also unlikely that Dean would just happen to start feeling warm and unzip those coveralls enough to reveal a bare chest beneath. Why on earth would he not have at least a tee shirt on under the coveralls, especially in February? Maybe in July, but not February.

Cas is glad when Hannah shows up. He gives Marv a half-hearted wave, but doubts the man even notices. 

“Thank you for coming to get me,” he says to Hannah after sliding into her passenger seat. “My car sounded bad enough that I didn’t think it wise to try and push it.”

“No. Last thing you want is to break down in the middle of winter. Seems like those things always happen at the worst possible time. Like, I don’t know. The middle of a snowstorm.”

“That is probably more likely in the movies than real life, but I didn’t want to risk it.” A small part of his brain suspects that having an excuse to see Dean at his work environment may have had something to do with the decision, but he’s not about to say that out loud to himself, let alone anyone else.

“Any idea what’s wrong with it?”

“Probably the starter, though whether that’s the only problem I have no idea. I’ll find out after they’ve had a chance to look at it.”

“Did you get any of your errands run?”

“No, but if my car is ready tomorrow it should be alright. I have enough groceries for today, and probably two days of food for Benford.”

“Do you want me to stop anywhere? The pet store?”

Cas shakes his head. “No. We need to get back to the office.”

 

It’s early afternoon when Cas’ cell rings. He checks the ID, and feels a rush of  _ something _ when he sees that it’s Dean. He swallows, considers taking his phone and stepping away from his desk to take the call. Would that be ridiculous? It would probably be ridiculous. This is a personal call, but it’s not the type of personal that he would prefer to keep private, even if he’d like it to be. So he simply answers.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Hey, Cas. So I just finished looking at your car. It’s definitely the starter, and the alternator is close to shot, too, so I'd like to replace that. I have one from the salvage yard I can use, so it won’t be much for the parts. I can have it done by the end of the day — meaning around seven or so.”

“Oh, that soon? Thank you. I was expecting it would take longer.”

“Nah, it’s not really that bad of a job if you have the right tools on hand. I can bring it by for you if you’re working late, have one of the guys take me back again.”

Cas is fairly sure that isn’t part of the standard service Dean offers. “I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you.”

“It’s no problem, really. My pleasure.”

He thinks he should protest more, but that would be unappreciative in the face of Dean’s insistence. Social graces are always his downfall. Is this one of those situations where he should insist, or one of those ones where he should continue to protest? He never knows. “In that case, thank you. How much will the total be? I’ll write a check.” The credit card is more convenient, of course, but he tries to make it a practice to avoid using his card with small businesses, aware that the merchant transaction fees can cut meaningfully into profits. 

“I’ll have to tell you tonight; I don’t have it all totaled up yet. I know you’re good for it if you don’t have it right away, so whenever. You working late tonight?”

“Yes. We’re still very busy, and I got a late start today with the car troubles.”

“I figured. I’ll give you a call when I’m on the way, then, and I’ll text you if I’m going to be later. Sometimes I work a little later if I’m in a bad stopping spot. Time can get away from me, you know?”

Cas smiles slightly. “Yes, I’m familiar with that phenomenon.” There were times when he got so caught up in a reconciliation that when he looked up, it was three hours later than he’d intended to stop.

“Later, then.”

Dean texts him at 7:30 that he’s on the way. Cas is alone at the office by now. He decides that he can be done for the day, so he shuts down his laptop, locks his work papers away, and closes up. He’s waiting just inside the lobby to the professional building when Dean pulls up in his Camry. Cas walks out to the curb and around to the driver’s side as Dean is getting out.

“I can’t thank you enough for this,” Cas says. “For fitting my car into your schedule. Marv gave the impression that your appointment book was full.”

“I can always fit a friend in. Or someone with an emergency. Your car’s in fairly good shape. I went ahead and cleaned up a couple things in the engine block as long as I was there, and did an oil change and tire rotation. Stickers made it look like you were about due.”

“Thank you.” 

“Welcome.” A tow truck pulls up behind them, and Dean gestures towards it. “There’s my ride.”

Garth waves from behind the wheel of the truck. Cas waves back. He’s vaguely disappointed. If Dean has a ride back to the shop then there’s no point in asking him if he’d like to grab a bite to eat. Ah well. Maybe next time. And honestly, he should be getting home to Benford anyhow. Thinking of Benford reminds him that his most important task today was supposed to be buying more cat food. He checks the time. If he hurries, he might be able to make it to the pet store before it closes.

“I’ll see you at the meeting, then, I suppose. Good night, Dean.” He hands over the check to pay for the services. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

“You too, Cas. You too.” Dean claps him on the shoulder, then jogs off to hop into the truck. 

Cas watches them drive away.

 

Cas turns his wrist to check the time on his watch, then returns his attention to the financial statements he is preparing for one of his clients. It’s been a month, already, since the last CSBOA meeting, and the next one snuck up on him. It’s just a little after five. Two entire hours before the monthly CSBOA meeting will be called to order. Given that City Hall is about a ten minute walk away, it’s too early to leave. 

“Castiel, you really need more of a social life than a monthly business meeting. I keep telling you.” Hannah leans up against the corner of his desk.

“The Small Business Owners Association is not a social life. It’s a valuable tool for networking with potential clients as well as keeping abreast of the concerns of the local business community.”

“If that was supposed to be a counter argument it’s not a very good one.”

She has a point, but he’s not planning to acknowledge it.

She taps him on the arm and straightens again, dropping the topic for now. “You should grab something to eat first.”

“There isn’t time to go home first. I’d be late.” Not technically true. He does have time to go home right now, prepare dinner, feed Benford, and still make it to the meeting on time, but only if he neglects to finish these financials. They’re needed for a client meeting tomorrow, so they need to get finished. Benford is quite unhappy with him during the first quarter. Perhaps he should buy a new laser pointer to replace the one that gave out right after Christmas. 

“Um, there are a couple places to eat on this very block. In case you’d forgotten.”

Cas considers his options. “Perhaps.” If he doesn’t eat he’s likely to be uncomfortably hungry by the time the two hour meeting is over, and though he might hope for another invitation from Dean and Charlie, he certainly shouldn’t count on one. He still has a couple protein bars in his bottom desk drawer that could tide him over, but he’s down to the flavors he doesn’t care for.

That could be why they’re still there. 

The thing is, he doesn’t particularly like eating alone in public. Eating at home is one thing. He lives alone aside from Benford, which isn’t ideal, but at least there is no one to judge him there. He doesn’t truly believe anyone is actually judging him, but there is a part of him that always feels incredibly self conscious. It’s not as bad if he sits at a stool rather than a table. It’s silly. Intellectually he knows that, but yet he can’t bring himself to push past it.

Hannah shuts down her computer and stands up, reaching for her coat and bag. “I’ve got to get home. Parent-teacher conferences tonight. Kyle’s grades have been slipping in math, so I want to make sure Jeff and I have some time with his algebra teacher.”

“Ah. Hopefully you’ll be able to get some advice on how to help him. Go. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Good night, Castiel. And eat something.”

After she leaves the office is quiet. Rachel is working from home again today because her daughter is ill. Joshua started and ended his day earlier, because he has music lessons to teach tonight.  

He tries to work after Hannah leaves, but the numbers aren’t behaving themselves. His pulse is racing, and he feels vaguely light-headed. It might be the anticipation of seeing Dean again. On the other hand, it could be low blood sugar. Maybe Hannah is right, and he should grab something to eat. He opens the bottom drawer and looks at the protein bars there again, making a face.

He reaches behind his neck to rub the tension there and looks out the window. It’s February, and typical for February, the weather is gray and dreary. “Fine. You win, Hannah. I’ll get something to eat.” He will just have to get in early to finish the reports before Ellie arrives.

He sees his phone sitting on the corner of his desk, and an idea occurs to him. He reaches for the phone, pulls his hand back, then reaches again. He can do this. It’s out of his comfort zone to issue an invitation, but there’s no reason he can’t do this. 

Bringing up Dean’s contact information, he types in a text. 

_ CN: Hello Dean. Are you going to the CSBOA meeting tonight? I was considering grabbing dinner beforehand. Would you be interested in joining me? Charlie too, of course. _

He presses send and sets the phone down again, swearing to himself that he will just leave it. If there is no response within ten minutes he’ll just go on his own.

It’s only two minutes before the phone buzzes again.

_ DW: Sounds gr8, where and when? Charlie’s working late so just me _

Cas smiles in pleasure, despite his minor twinge of discomfort at Dean using numbers in place of letters. It’s a surprise that he actually agreed. More accurately, it’s a surprise because part of him still expects automatic rejection of offers of companionship. He’s had too many of those over the years, which makes extending the invitation that much more difficult.

But now he has to think of where and when. 

_ CN: Delia’s? It’s closest to the meeting. And I will be leaving shortly, so whenever you arrive. _

_ DW: brt _

 

Unlike the Roadhouse, Delia’s is a family restaurant, almost more of a diner. It’s aged in that way of small town diners, with booths upholstered in red vinyl, the occasional tears patched with duct tape. The table tops are speckled, with ribbed metal edging, and there are metal napkin holders with clips to hold the laminated menus in place. They don’t serve any alcohol. 

Cas arrives first and takes a booth, taking the seat that faces the door so he can watch the arrivals. He’s eaten here more often than the Roadhouse. It’s only a block from his office, and therefore the most convenient place. Most of the time he gets something to go and takes it back to the office, unless he’s grabbing a bite with a client or one of his colleagues. 

He’s barely gotten his coat off and draped it carefully on the seat beside himself when Dean comes in. He looks around, spots Cas, and heads over with a friendly grin. “Hey Cas.”

“Hello, Dean. I’m glad you could join me.”

“I’m grateful for the invite. Sometimes Charlie and I eat together beforehand, but she’s balls deep in some coding project. Might even be late to the meeting, but she says she’s still coming.”

The server comes over, a young kid, college age, maybe even high school. He has reddish blond hair that’s just a little too long, flopping into his eyes, and a bright yellow and pink vertically striped shirt. That’s the ‘uniform’ Delia insists on, and if it clashes with the red seats, well, the whole thing is just so signature Delia that it’s hard to argue with it after the first two or three visits.

“Hi Dean,” the kid says with a warm smile. “And Dean’s friend.”

“Cas,” Dean supplies. “This is Cas. Cas, this is Alfie.”

“Hi Cas,” Alfie says. “What can I get you to drink?”

“Coffee,” Dean says. “Black.”

“Tea, if you have it. Chai?”

“We’ve got that, sure,” Alfie says. “Know what you want to eat, or shall I come back?”

“Not quite sure yet, but just give me a second.” Dean scans over the menu quickly. “How’s school going? You’re what, freshman year at State?”

“Yeah, second semester. It’s going okay. Still taking general ed classes, so it gets kind of boring. Next year I can start taking things in my concentration.”

“Still thinking biology?”

“So far. Either that or library science.”

Dean asks him a few more questions about his classes and about someone named Matthew. They place their orders, Dean choosing the lasagna and Cas the special of the day, which is a pot roast sandwich that sounds like good, hearty winter fare. Neither of them chooses the burger. Cas wonders if Dean’s reasons are the same as his — where the Roadhouse has excellent burgers, the ones here are mediocre at best. The patties are too thin, and he wonders if they’re mixed with soy product. There’s nothing wrong with that, he supposes, but they just can’t compare with the real thing.

“How do you know Alfie?”

Dean smiles, his gaze drifting over to watch Alfie placing the order with the cook. “I coach youth baseball in the summer. Alfie was on my team two years running. It was a few years ago, now, but I keep track of the kids as much as I can. The kids I coach are 13 and 14.”

“That sounds like an enjoyable thing to do.” He can picture it, Dean in a baseball jersey and baseball cap, freckles more prominent with the sunshine, chewing gum as he paces back and forth in front of the dugout, working with the kids. 

“Yeah. Sam was more into soccer, but I always liked baseball better. After Sam went away to school I guess I felt like I was a bit at loose ends. Bobby suggested the coaching. He’d already sponsored a little league team. Started that when I was playing myself. He sponsored a soccer team, too, when Sam got into that.”

“So you’ve lived here all your life?” Cas asks, hoping his tone is casual rather than desperately interested. That’s a natural next question, isn’t it? He doesn’t trust his instincts for personal interactions. 

“More or less, yeah. Moved here when I was seven. Before that we drifted all over. My dad got a job here with Uncle Bobby — no blood relation, he’s an honorary uncle — at the shop I run now. The job didn’t stick more than a couple years before Dad got restless again, but Sam and I stayed when he took off, and when Bobby wanted to cut back and spend more time on his hobbies, he transitioned the shop to me. He’s still got a stake in the place, but he only shows up when he feels like it.”

Reading between the lines, Cas realizes that Dean’s childhood had to have been more difficult than he’d realized. He’s curious, wants to know more, but that would be prying. Prying isn’t something Cas does intentionally. He’s too sensitive about questions regarding his own background to want to put anyone else through that same pressure. Sometimes, though, he blunders his way into asking questions even he realizes are too personal. The problem is that usually he doesn't realize it until too late. He just asks without thinking it through, because he’s curious. He’s worked hard at awareness on that issue. There are few things worse than the particular look people give him when they clearly think whatever he asked is downright rude and impolite.

He particularly doesn’t want to do that with Dean. It would be far too easy to make him uncomfortable, which is the last thing Cas would ever want. This, whatever it is between the two of them, this is something he values too much to risk with situationally inappropriate comments or questions.

People are difficult. Life would be so much easier if they would behave as predictably as numbers. 

“Bobby lives here in Cherryvale, then?” That should be a safe enough question.

“Yeah, right next door to the shop. He’s been there forever. The town grew over to him. Used to have a big salvage yard there, too, but ended up selling a lot of the land. I mean, there’s still a salvage yard, but it’s only about a quarter the size it used to be. It’s useful, especially for the restoration jobs. If I can find the parts in the yard then I don’t have to special order them, which can sometimes take a really long time before they come in. That’s part of what makes the restoration business more lucrative; the contacts to find parts take some time and expertise to build up.”

“That makes sense.”

“It can be frustrating, though, when there’s something obscure. Then you need to talk to the owner and see how much they insist on original parts rather than replicas. That usually depends on the vehicle. If you’re just trying to soup up a relatively common make and model from the 70s, having a replica part isn’t going to make a huge difference unless the thing’s in pristine condition. But if it’s an older, rarer model, it becomes more important.”

Cas enjoys watching Dean as he talks about the restoration business over their dinner. He is animated, using his hands while he speaks, and his eyes sparkle. He even develops a hint of color on his cheeks. He is always beautiful, but when he is talking about something he’s this passionate about, his beauty is transcendent.

“And Sam… you said he went away to school? He’s younger than you?”

“Yeah, a little over four years younger. He got a full ride to Stanford, did pre-law and then law out there. Then after he graduated he went to DC to do an internship with a civil rights firm, and met Eileen. They got married about a year ago. She’s finishing up her graduate degree in social work. So between the two of them they’re planning to save the world.”

Dean’s pride in his brother is obvious, even if his tone is faintly mocking. 

“That’s admirable.”

“Yeah, it is. Not much of a surprise. Sam’s always been …  _ earnest _ . All indignant whenever he perceives a wrong being done. He’s like this giant moose with puppy dog eyes, all of which hides this genius brain.” Dean smiles slightly. “I have so many stories. But maybe not right now. How about you? Any siblings?”

“A few. Only one that I’m close to. My brother Gabriel. He’s nothing like me, and he is a master at finding someone’s last nerve and stepping on it.” The topic of family was a difficult one, and one that Cas didn’t particularly want to get into just now. Not when they were due to go to the CSBOA meeting. “But for all that, he is a good person and there when I need him.”

Dean cants his head to the side, considering Cas. He nods once, and moves on to other topics. Cas is grateful for the lack of probing questions.

Maybe someday he will share his complicated personal history with Dean, but not tonight. Definitely not tonight.

After they finish eating, they leave the diner together and walk the few blocks to City Hall. Cas feels light, buoyant even. At the same time he feels foolish for taking such pleasure over simply spending some time with Dean.

_ Time with Dean’s undivided attention _ , the traitorous part of his mind whispers. It doesn’t mean anything, the more logical part of him argues back. It’s simply convenience and being friendly, since they both need to eat. Dean is the sort of gregarious person who, as the old song says, ‘never met a man that he didn’t like’. Cas isn’t anyone special.

They are early to the meeting, so there aren’t many people there yet. Missouri is making sure the room is arranged properly. The city staff makes sure that there are tables and chairs in the meeting space, but they don’t always arrange them the way she wants them. 

“You need some help here?” Dean asks, jumping to help shift the furniture around. “You’d think that they’d figure out by now how we like these set up. Isn’t that part of the reservation form?”

Cas helps as well, winces as the table he drags makes a sharp squealing sound in protest.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” Missouri says. “Yes, it is part of the form but I have my doubts that they even look at the form.” She rolls her eyes, then turns towards Castiel with a smile.

He is immediately suspicious. She often smiles, but there is something about this particular smile that seems predatory. 

“I’m so glad you’re here early, Castiel. I have something to ask you.” She comes closer, leaning one hip up against a table. Her chunky wooden bead necklaces clack together with the movement. “I just received notice that our scheduled speaker for next month has to cancel. Would you be willing to consider presenting in her place? I’ve been thinking for some time about the conversation we had last fall, about simple accounting practices that small business owners sometimes learn about the hard way, and I think that would be an excellent topic.”

Cas goes still, his heart starting to thunder in his chest. Speaking? Him? In front of the whole Association membership?

“That sounds awesome,” Dean says, bumping Cas’ shoulder with his fist. “You should do it.”

“I…” He tightens his hand into a fist, hidden in the deep pocket of his trench coat. “Ah.”

“I know it’s a topic you’re passionate about,” Missouri encourages.

“Well, yes. That’s true.” He has countless examples of mistakes people have made out of simple ignorance. Small business owners rarely have a passion for the paperwork side of their business. They start their business because they love cooking, or fixing things, or making something, or providing a unique service. As soon as their business starts to grow, many of them run into challenges they aren’t expecting, and often don’t recognize before they evolve from challenges into genuine concerns. 

Sometimes they are unable to recover, plunging their families into debt that could take years to dig themselves out of. He’s seen it personally, and every time it breaks his heart. If only they had come to him sooner, he likes to think he would have been able to prevent the problems, or at least helped them extricate themselves more gracefully and with fewer losses.

Looking around the space of the community room, he realizes that he doesn’t want that to happen to any of these people he has come to know and like. If he can help someone, anyone, can help them recognize and correct a problem while it’s still fixable, he should do that. 

“All right. I will do it.”

 

Cas lets himself into his apartment, hanging his coat up in the closet and slipping his shoes off. Then he toes off the socks, sighing in pleasure when he can wiggle his toes. He concentrates on the sensation. His head still feels like it is dissociated from the rest of his body, a sort of white noise buzzing between his ears. Smaller things to focus on are good. Very good.

Benford stands up on the arm of the sofa, stretching in that way cats have, arching his back and placing one paw at a time before himself before he yawns powerfully. He jumps down and twines around Cas’ ankles. “Hello, Benford. Give me a moment and I will check your food.” He bends over to rub the cat’s soft ears.

The food bowl still has food in it, but Benford always complains when it isn’t fresh food. Cas picks up the bowl, opens the large food bin, puts the bowl in and shakes it around before placing it back on the mat. “There you go.” He always feels faintly guilty for tricking the cat that way, but it works. He also feels a ridiculous secret glee at proving that yes, he’s still smarter than his cat. Benford meows at him, then crunches the kibble. 

Cas looks in the fridge, pulls out a jug of milk and pours himself a glass. He leans back against the counter, crossing his feet at the ankles. “Benford, your papa had one hell of a day,” he says, watching the cat eat. “I had dinner with Dean. Yes, that Dean. The insanely gorgeous one that makes me get all tongue-tied unless I can take refuge in talking about work. Just the same as every person I have ever been attracted to, starting way back in high school.” He sighs. “He’s probably straight, anyhow. He’s almost certain to be straight.” But that small niggling doubt that maybe, just maybe, he isn’t… that is enough to keep Cas awake at night, with daydreams of a decidedly non-straight Dean Winchester and miles of smooth, freckled skin. 

He shakes himself. “That’s not all,” he continues. “Missouri — the current president of the Association, I’ve told you about her — talked me into giving a presentation next month. Me. A presentation. I’m not quite sure how I ended up agreeing, except that Dean was… well. He was enthusiastic, and somehow I didn’t want to disappoint him. So now I may end up being even more of a disappointment through the quality of my speech, or lack thereof. How do I get myself into these things, Benford? Just because the boy is cute? Am I not far, far past such juvenile reactions?” 

Benford looks up at him, then sits down and starts licking under his tail.

“Thank you, Benford. I appreciate that response.”


	3. March

Cas tugs at his tie to loosen it. He chose his favorite blue one, a nubby silk with a gorgeous sheen. It feels like a noose around his neck, though it isn’t that tight to begin with. He tugs his cuffs down to make sure they show that perfect quarter inch under the sleeves of his blue suit jacket. He straightens the pile of handouts directly to the left of his laptop, makes sure they’re perfectly perpendicular to the edge of the table. The staples make the papers thicker in the upper left corner, but there’s nothing to be done for that. Some of the staples are cock-eyed and too close to the margin. If he had his staple remover here he could fix them, but then he’d have needed to bring his stapler too, and he left that behind at the office. He should have checked Hannah’s work before putting the hand-outs in his case. Then he could have fixed the staples, even if she rolled her eyes at him. It would have been worth it. 

Oh. His notepad. He leans over to remove the yellow legal pad from his briefcase and sets that to the right of the laptop, and places his pen precisely beside it. He adds a second pen beside the first in case the first runs out of ink or starts to leave those annoying sticky splotches that smear and disfigure otherwise tidy notes.

“Hi Cas!” Charlie’s bright greeting causes him to look up. “Need help setting up the projector?”

“Oh.” He glances upwards to the machine mounted to the ceiling, directed towards the wall behind him, and the pull-down screen. “Yes, thank you, that would be appreciated.” He flips up the lid of his laptop and powers it on.

Charlie pulls out her chair and dumps her coat and bag, then comes up to help him. “Let’s see…” She quickly takes stock of what is where, connecting this to that and pushing that button and adjusting the settings on his laptop with a deft surety that dazzles him. In no time at all his wallpaper is projected on the screen, the default Windows background in all its glory. 

“Oh man, you really need a little more personality there,” she comments, staring at the image in dismay. “Don’t you have any pictures on there? Vacation photo, or you have a cat, right? Maybe a picture of him?”

“Not on the laptop. I don’t take pictures with my laptop. Maybe on my phone. Or the camera.”

“Dude, if you have pictures on your phone they’re probably backed up somewhere on the cloud, or at least they should be. You don’t want a single point of failure. You backup your files, don’t you?”

“I back up all of my work files regularly to a secure backup. Not so much my phone.”

“You need to let me get something set up for you,” she says firmly. “And download something to your laptop. You can’t use the default wallpaper. It’s just… wrong, on so many levels. You’re a much more interesting person than that.”

The offhanded comment somehow makes him feel warm. He isn’t sure he believes her. He’s not an interesting person at all, but it’s nice to hear her say that. “I’m really not.”

She directs a fierce glare at him, and pokes her finger into his chest. “Listen, I know whereof I speak. You’re very interesting, and we’re going to express that. Find a picture on your phone of your cat.”

He swallows. “Yes, ma’am.” He fumbles with his phone, trying to remember how to open the photo album thing. He doesn’t use it often, but it turns out it’s not all that difficult. The most recent ten pictures are all of Benford, which is perhaps embarrassing. Has he turned into one of  _ those _ people?

By the time he chooses one and shows it to Charlie, more people have arrived and it’s nearing time to start. She works some magic and gets it to be his wallpaper, so now everyone knows he’s a cat person.

Somehow that doesn’t make him as uncomfortable as he thought it would.

“Here’s the remote,” she says, handing it to him. “Want to test it out a little so you know how it works ahead of time?”

“That is a good idea. Thank you.” He flushes. “I don’t usually give presentations.”

She grins, bumps his shoulder with hers. “I figured that out when you spent the last meeting white as a ghost and barely coherent.”

His flush undoubtedly deepens. 

“Oh. Yes. Well.” He dips his head, opening PowerPoint and Excel. He might not know his way around everything his laptop can do, but Excel? That he knows inside and out, backwards and forwards. It’s a friend he can count on, a powerful friend that can do things in an instant that he used to spend hours doing. It’s predictable and reliable and has never once let him down.

After testing the mechanics of running the presentation, he has Charlie close down the projector. More people are beginning to arrive, and there are a few orders of business to be addressed before he starts. 

Cold chills run down his neck, followed by a slice of heat. He wipes his damp palms on his trousers. 

He is instantly aware when Dean walks into the room.  _ So stupid and immature _ , he chides himself. Surely in this amount of time he should have gotten past his teenage crush, but if anything it’s stronger. Dean grins across the room at him, and sparks of pleasure cascade through Castiel.  _ Stupid. Ridiculous. _ Dean would be mortified if he had any idea at all. “Heya Cas.”

“Hello, Dean.” 

“Gotta say, I’m looking forward to this. You’re going to knock it out of the park.”

Cas frowns, then his expression clears.”Ah. A sports metaphor. I trust that is a good thing?”

“Dude, baseball!” Dean looks appalled.

Cas looks at him, keeping his expression blank. He might not be that interested in sports, generally speaking, but no. He isn’t that clueless, and after their dinner last month he’s well aware that Dean is a baseball fan. Still, Dean’s expression is well worth the pretense. Even better, it serves as a distraction from the nerves that are starting to buzz just under his skin, pricking and chilling and twinging with faint nausea in the pit of his stomach. 

He lets just the hint of a smile slip through.

Dean’s gaze narrows, then he abruptly turns and goes to the back of the room, grabbing one of the bottles of water provided. He comes up to the presenter’s desk and hands it over. “Here, drink this. And chew a couple of these.” He produces a few antacid tabs in the palm of his hand, then leans closer, speaks softly. “Seriously, Cas, you’ll do great. But if it gets to you, just look at me, talk to me. I got your back.”

The tablets don’t help much. They have a horrible chalky taste which the water doesn’t entirely wash away. But then he realizes that Charlie’s indignation over his lack of personalized desktop wallpaper and insistence that he search for something else, and Dean’s providing water and antacids, are both ways to distract and soothe him before the presentation. It’s both surprising and heartwarming. When Missouri introduces him after the call to order, he’s able to stand up and face the room without passing out or having to breathe into a paper bag.

He’d brought one along. Just in case. It’s tucked into the outside pocket of his briefcase. 

He curls his fingers around the edges of the podium, careful not to grip too tightly.

“Hello, everyone. For those who may not know my name, though I think, hope, that most of you do, I’m Castiel Novak, and I’m an accountant.”

He can hear Dean choke on his drink, clearly swallowing an inappropriate laugh. He doesn’t know why. How is what he’d said amusing? He frowns in confusion.

He sees Charlie jab Dean in his side with her elbow. Dean shakes his head and makes a motion with his hand that Cas thinks indicates an apology, and encouragement to continue. 

Cas clicks on the remote and advances the slide of his PowerPoint. “It’s been my experience with my clients that although they are almost always wonderfully qualified at the core of their businesses, whether it be as a restaurateur, a mechanic, a freelance technology and software consultant, or what have you, they aren’t always as well educated when it comes to the bookkeeping side of their business. In my time with you tonight, I intend to share some common missteps that people have made, and offer some suggestions as to how you can avoid the situations they found themselves in.”

He’s worried that while he finds the subject matter important and useful, his delivery might well make the presentation dull to his audience. Often the presenters at these meetings use humor as part of their speaking technique, but Cas is well aware that his sense of humor tends to fall flat with most people. 

He tried out a couple jokes when practicing his presentation on his staff. 

They unanimously advised him to leave them out.

Still, after the first five exceptionally painful minutes, he relaxes enough to let his passion for his subject show, and the examples he shares catch the attention of his audience. Dean gives him a surreptitious thumbs up, and both he and Charlie smile encouragingly when he stumbles briefly with forgetting what’s on his slide and losing track of where he is.

“The controls I’ve been discussing are important to help dissuade employee fraud. Most people I’ve met seem to think that fraud mostly happens in large corporations, and in most of the big news stories that come out, and the really large fraud cases, that’s true. However, it’s far more common for small businesses to be the victims of employee fraud, largely for two reasons: lax accounting controls, and the fact that no one wants to believe that people they hired would steal from them. So I hope that if you aren’t doing any of the simple things I’ve shared with you tonight, you’ll take these steps to improve your financial controls. Thank you.”

He forwards to the last slide, which says simply ‘Questions?’ He takes a deep breath and a sip of water, then looks out over the people at the meeting. No one is sleeping, which he definitely counts as a win.

He even gets some questions, intelligent questions that show they were paying attention. It’s quite gratifying. The applause at the end is likewise gratifying, if also embarrassing. He knows his face is flushed pink, and the pink probably extends down his chest, but at least no one can see that. Just his neck.

He also realizes he’s sweated through his white dress shirt, which means taking his suit jacket off is definitely not an option when he finishes and Missouri calls the fifteen minute break.

Charlie comes up to help him pack his materials, and Dean follows more slowly, a thoughtful frown between his eyes. 

He shakes  the frown off, though, when he gets to the presenter’s podium. “Great job, Cas,” he says, genuine warmth in his tone. “You nailed it.”

“I stuttered through two slides, and forgot to talk about two of my bullet points.”

“That wasn’t noticeable,” Charlie assures him. “Well, the stuttering was a little noticeable, but it probably seemed a million times worse to you than to anyone else. A bunch of what you said made me glad I don’t actually have any employees, though.”

Dean makes a face at that, but doesn’t say anything. He seems to have something on his mind, but he isn’t talking about it. Perhaps it is entirely unrelated. Cas can understand that. He knows Dean has a life outside of his work and outside of the CSBOA. Most people have lives outside of their work: social connections, family events, a love life.

Dean has Charlie. Cas knows the two of them are close. It’s just… Cas isn’t quite sure exactly what type of relationship they have. The two of them are affectionate with each other, but is it romantic affection, or just friendly affection? For people who’ve been together a long time the difference isn’t always that obvious. When Cas was in a relationship, they weren’t obvious about it in public. Now he wonders if that was because the relationship was never as solid as Cas had thought it was, but… that’s beside the point. Dean and Charlie have never said anything about being together, but it’s not as though they have had frequent in-depth conversations about their personal lives. It’s still ambiguous. Which is fine. It’s perfectly fine. 

He could always just ask.

No. That won’t happen. 

“So anyhow, Dean and I were saying we should take you out for a drink after the meeting. Celebrate your successful presentation.”

“Oh, that isn’t necessary,” he protests automatically, though inside he wants to. He hasn’t been able to stop thinking about the two meals he and Dean have shared. They have been the most enjoyment he’s had in far too long. Perhaps that speaks more to the pathetic nature of his social life than it does to the pleasure of Dean’s company, but that doesn’t mean Dean’s company hasn’t been pleasant. More than once he’s found himself fantasizing that they were dates, rather than just shared meals of convenience.

He wishes there was a way to force his subconscious to get a grip on reality.

“Drinks are rarely necessary. They’re just fun. Come on, Cas. You don’t have to go back to work, do you? Just one,” Dean adds his encouragement.

Cas bites his lower lip. “Well… perhaps just one. It does feel like the sort of occasion which should be acknowledged with alcoholic beverages.”

“There you go.” Dean claps him on the shoulder.

 

After the second half of the meeting, they agree to rendezvous at the Roadhouse. Before going, Cas stops in the restroom and stares at himself in the mirror. He wishes he’d thought ahead to bring a different shirt. This one is soiled after his nervous perspiration. Perhaps he should stop at his apartment first, or even his office. The office is closer, and he keeps a spare shirt or two there in case of emergencies such as a spilled mug of coffee right before a meeting with an important client.

That has been known to happen. More than once.

In the end, though, he drives directly to the Roadhouse, parking beside Dean’s black Impala. Dean and Charlie are in the same booth they’d been in last time. Cas slides into the booth opposite Dean, beside Charlie. “Hello, Dean. Charlie.”

“Heya Cas.” Dean signals to the bartender — not his friend Jo this time, but a young man who is painfully earnest — and soon a bottle of beer gets set down in front of Cas. The server pops the cap off, and Cas takes a sip. It’s a rich, malty flavor with a hint of berries, which he hasn’t tried before. It’s good.

“So you survived the Public Speaking Experience. Congratulations!” Charlie gives him a high five.

“Thank you. I will say I have little desire to repeat that experience in the near future.” His stomach is only just starting to settle down again. Strangely, the nerves were far worse after he finished than before he’d started. His hands are shaking even now with a faint tremor. He keeps them wrapped around the cool bottle in an effort to at least keep the shaking disguised.

“It was good information, though. I know people found it useful,” Charlie says. “And your real-life examples were kind of scary.”

Dean picks at the label of his bottle, then looks up at Cas through his lusciously long lashes. “Yeah. That really happens, huh? A lot? Employees ripping off their bosses?”

“More often than you would think. People often think that happens more at large corporations, but honestly small companies are usually more vulnerable, because they don’t have the same level of controls implemented, and because owners want to believe the people they hired wouldn’t do such a thing.”

“Yeah. You said that in your speech.” He gets a distant look. “How… how would you go about proving something like that?”

The flush on Dean’s face, along with the uncharacteristic hesitation in his speech, connects the dots for Cas. “Dean.” He waits until the other man meets his gaze. “Do you suspect you may have an issue?”

“I don’t know, man,” he says. “I mean… well. No. But… I don’t know. Seems like we’ve been busier than ever the last year or two, and yet profits are flat or even down. The work tickets haven’t been that different. If anything we’ve been doing more of the jobs with a higher profit margin, so something seems off. It’s like you said, though. I don’t want to be suspecting any of my people. We’re like a family, you know?”

“Yes. I understand.” He takes another sip of his beer. “Have you reviewed your sales and profit records?”

“Yeah, of course. I get a report every week, and detailed reports every month. They’re boring as hell, but I read through them.”

“Reports. Who prepares the reports?”

“Marv Johnson. You met him, didn’t you? When you brought your car in? He’s usually the one who’s manning the front desk, since the office is quieter than the garage.”

“Yes, I remember Marv. Does he have other responsibilities?” 

“Well, yeah. All the paperwork stuff. Invoices, billing, payables, receivables. Handling the mail. I usually do the ordering, but sometimes he covers that, at least for the routine supplies.” 

Castiel groans internally, though he thinks, hopes, that he’s maintaining a professionally neutral expression. “Does he review the banking records too?”

“Well, I look those over. But yeah?”

“Hm. Well, as you no doubt recognized from my presentation, it sounds like you don’t have effective segregation of duties. So there would be opportunity for fraud. I’d recommend making some changes.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Dean sounds glum. “But is there a way to figure out if anything… if he’s been stealing?” He raises his chin, forcing himself to say the word bluntly. 

“Perhaps.”

“I mean, I wouldn’t want to do anything without being sure.”

“Of course not.” Cas considers his options. “You would not want to reveal that you have suspicions; that might precipitate actions if in fact he has been acting against your interests.” He’s read about embezzlers tearing through the business in horrific fashion when they suspected they were close to being caught, then abandoning the town in the dead of night, never to be seen again. Dramatic, yes, but not outside the realm of possibility. 

“Dude.” Charlie reaches across the table to tap Dean on his hand, then lightly stroke his knuckles. “You never said anything.” Her brow creases in concern, her eyes full of compassion.

“Yeah, well, it’s just been this feeling that things weren’t quite right. Couldn’t put my finger on it until I was listening to Cas’ speech. Still not sure, but seems like it might be a possibility. I feel stupid if that is what’s going on.” He’s still flushed and obviously uncomfortable. “It still might just be me.”

“You shouldn’t feel stupid, Dean,” Cas assures him. “Usually these things begin slowly, and only start increasing as the perpetrator begins to believe he — or she — is able to get away with it. That makes it harder to pinpoint, because the changes are gradual. If you would like, I can review some of your records and see if there is anything that I find questionable.”

He rubs the back of his neck. “Thinkin’ I should do that, yeah. What’s your rate?”

Cas frowns, stung that Dean would think he would charge him for helping him out. Logically he knows he should appreciate that Dean doesn’t just assume that his services would be donated because they are friends, but apparently his emotions have a different world view. “I would do an initial review as a favor for a friend. If there’s anything beyond that, we can discuss it later.”

“I can help with any computer things,” Charlie volunteers. “Web searches. That sort of thing.” She winks at Dean. He chokes on a laugh in return. 

There is something going on here that Cas isn’t privy to. Clearly.

“Yeah, we’ll see about that one, Red. We’ll talk about it later.” Dean takes another long pull on his beer, tapping his fingers against the edge of the table. “Okay, Cas. I’ll take you up on it. We can do it on a weekend sometime? I’m closed on Sundays. Half days on Saturday. So either Saturday afternoon or Sunday would probably be best.”

“Saturday afternoon would work for me. I try not to work Sundays aside from the very busiest days.” Not that his days are anything exciting. Usually he just stays home with Benford, reading a book, perhaps doing some cleaning and laundry and then indulging himself with a more elaborate meal. He isn’t a gourmet chef by any means, but he enjoys experimenting in the kitchen on occasion.

He tries to keep in mind that he is capable of learning from his mistakes. Some of the mistakes have been quite spectacular. None have involved visits from the fire department, at least, though that first attempt at seared salmon had been a near thing.

Dean twists his beer bottle between his hands. “I do hope you don’t find anything,” he says softly. “I mean, I don’t like the idea of being duped. And I like the people at my shop. The idea that any of them would steal is hard to accept.”

“No one likes it.” What kind of words can he use that might help Dean to feel better? Diplomacy is not his strength. “I say again, though, you shouldn’t feel stupid. You are at worst ignorant.”

Dean looks up at him then, surprised, but then the left corner of his mouth quirks up in a grin. “Ignorance is better?”

“Of course.”

“Hell yes, Dude,” Charlie agrees, kicking him under the table. “Stupidity is hopeless. Ignorance just means you never had the opportunity to learn something, and you can do something about that. You  _ are _ doing something about that. Of course there are people who willfully choose to remain ignorant, but you’re not one of those. You wouldn’t be my best bud if you were.”

“Yeah, yeah.” And then… “Ouch! Geez, Charlie, are you six?”

“Yes, and you’re five.”

Cas can’t help but smile, dipping his head so that it isn’t as obvious. There is a certain childlike interaction between the two. 

Dean glares at her, then reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. “I’ll put it on my calendar.” 

“Look at you, all formal and putting things on your calendar. I’m proud of you, young padawan.” 

“Star Wars, right?” Cas says without thinking. “I looked it up.” Both of them stare at him as though he is some rare biological specimen, and he flushes. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. And yes. Star Wars. Not the original trilogy, which is far superior to the second set. But… you looked it up?” Charlie leans forward.

“Yes?”

“Why would you have to look it up?”

Oh. He reaches up and shoves his fingers through his hair. “Well, I’ve never actually seen it.”

“The second trilogy?”

“Any of them, actually.”

Charlie gasps, bringing her hand up to her chest. “Castiel Novak!”

“Cas, really? Seriously?” Dean seems as shocked as Charlie. “You’re shitting me.”

He simply looks back at them, choosing not to say anything more. That would probably only dig him a deeper hole.

“Dude. You’re coming over for movie night. No argument. We’ll have pizza and watch the movie. My place, after your date at the garage.”

Dean nods in agreement.

“It’s not a—”

“No argument. We’ll start with Episode 4, and see how far we get.”

Cas takes another sip of his beer. “I should be heading out soon,” he says. “Thank you for the drink, and thank you for the help with presentation. Both of you, the technical assistance and the encouragement.”

“You have to go already?” Dean frowns.

“I do, unfortunately. It is still the busy time of year, and I will have to get in early tomorrow.”

“Talk to you soon, then, Cas, and I’ll see you Saturday, huh?”

“Yes, Dean. I will see you on Saturday.”

 

Early Saturday afternoon Cas spends far too much time agonizing over what to wear. He’s aware the decision doesn’t merit the importance he’s giving to it, but he can’t seem to stop himself. It’s the weekend, so his usual suit and tie would make a different impression than the one he wants to make. He doesn't want Dean to think he’s always a boring accountant. Too often, he’s afraid that is all too accurate of a description. He is an accountant and enjoys it. His hobbies are reading, watching nature documentaries, and contemplating the logistics of urban beekeeping and if he can make it work while living in his apartment. His life is so dull that sometimes he even puts himself to sleep.

The weather in March is still cool, so perhaps his favorite blue and gray argyle sweater is a good choice? But no. He can practically hear his brother Gabriel scoffing at that idea. He chews on his lower lip. This is ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous.

Growling in frustration, he pulls a pair of jeans out of his dresser and steps into them. Jeans at least are a safe and innocuous choice. He can’t go too wrong with jeans, can he? As long as they’re neither so baggy that they’re falling off of him nor so tight that he has to prance rather than walk?

Benford flicks an ear at him from his vantage point curled up at the end of the bed, watching Cas’ uncharacteristic fussing with cool disdain. Cas glares at him. “Don’t you start with me. It isn’t like I even have that many options. And yes, I suppose not having many options should make this easier for lack of choice. The problem is that none of them really feel like the  _ right _ option.” Most of his wardrobe is dress shirts; on ‘casual’ days at the office he just takes off his tie and leaves the top button or two undone. If he’s feeling particularly casual he might take off his jacket and roll up his sleeves. Then there are the sweaters, which he likes because they are soft and comfortable, but he is aware enough of fashion to realize his communicate ‘old fuddy-duddy Mr. Rogers’ rather than ‘dateable guy, if by any chance at all you happen to be interested in guys for dating’.

His usual weekend attire is jeans, sweats, or track pants and old worn tee shirts, or perhaps ratty sweatshirts in colder weather. None of those are appropriate. Finally he chooses one of those old tees and puts on his one and only black dress shirt over it, thinking that perhaps if he leaves it open instead of buttoning it up and tucking it in it could approximate casual. Socks, shoes, and done.

If he doesn’t leave now he’s going to be late, and being late is not an option. He sighs, runs a quick hand over Benford’s head, and heads out. 

Cas makes his way to Dean's shop. As per Dean's request he pulls around to the back, parking alongside the other vehicles waiting to be repaired. He looks around, which he didn’t do as much as he wanted to the last time he was here. Then, he was entirely focused on worrying about his car. Without that worry hanging over his head, he can turn his attention outward and observe details he couldn’t be bothered with before.

The building is older but well maintained, with a red brick exterior and four large bay doors. The office door is off to one side of the front elevation, with ‘Winchester Automotive’ etched into the glass panel of the door. There’s a round doorbell button at the side; Cas depresses it firmly with his thumb.

He’s barely released it when the door opens. Dean, wearing jeans and a worn black tee with ‘AC/DC’ and a lightning bolt on it, stands there. Cas’ pulse immediately starts racing. Damn. If Dean looked good at the Association meetings in good jeans and a button-down, he looks amazing in the type of clothes he is clearly more comfortable in. 

“Heya, Cas,” Dean greets him, stepping back and holding the door open for him. “Right on time.” His gaze drops down and then up again, a brief flash of something complicated in his eyes before they clear and return to their usual open friendliness.

“Yes. Hello, Dean.” He steps in and looks around. The reception area has that vague scent of motor oil that any auto shop has, mixed with rubber from the display of tires. The seating area is outdated but clean, with a selection of current magazines spread out on the low coffee table, a television tucked into the corner, and a couch and three chairs. 

“Come on back to the office.” He leads the way behind the customer service counter to a small room with entrances both to the customer service area and to the service bays. Cas can’t help but look through into the heart of the shop, the place where Dean spends most of his days. An older car is in one of the spots, missing some of the body panels and with the engine block currently hoisted up on thick chains. He doesn’t know enough about cars to recognize the make or model, but it looks like it was from the fifties or sixties. 

“Is that car one of the ‘restoration’ part of your business?”

“Yeah, it is. Kind of a personal project. I work on it mostly on my own time, no clients expecting her to be finished on a particular timeframe, so.” He shrugged. “She’s going to be a beauty, though. ‘64 Corvette Stingray. I’m still trying to decide what color I’m going to paint her. Red is flashy, but she might be a more reserved kind of a lady.”

Cas smiles, appreciating the affection Dean holds for the project. That’s one of the things he most enjoys about working with smaller businesses; the owners usually are far more passionate about their careers than the tax clients who work for others. “Seems like it should be red, but perhaps a richer, deeper red? More wine than cherry?”

Dean nods thoughtfully. “Maybe. Rich layers. It’s a thought. Maybe with some black accents.  Hm. Anyhow. How’s your weekend been so far? Do anything interesting this morning?” He moves to the coffee maker and pours them each a mug. The mugs are a mismatched lot, various sizes and shapes. Dean uses a plain glossy black one and hands Cas a blue one with the Chevy logo on it.

“I worked, though mostly from home. The tax part of the practice is ramping up, and although Rachel handles the more complicated clients, I endeavor to take as much of the load from her as I can. Taxes are not my greatest strength, but I am more than capable of doing the simpler ones. During the remainder of the time between now and Tax Day Hannah and Joshua will also pitch in.”

“Taxes. Ugh.” Dean frowns. “I’ve done those myself, but I’ve been relying on the numbers Marv provided. Am I gonna get in trouble with the IRS?”

“One step at a time, Dean. Your concerns may be unfounded, though based on what you’ve told me I would still recommend implementing some additional control procedures.”

“Yeah. Okay, where do you want to start?”

“First I want to assure you that anything I see or you tell me will be held in confidence.”

“Never doubted that, Cas.”

“Well then. Let’s start with whatever you have for financial statements — sales reports, profit and loss statements, bank statements, your accounts payable. I brought my laptop, so if I could have a place to set it up that will also allow me to review the paperwork?”

“Yeah, sure.” He piles loose papers from his desk, moving them aside, then starts gathering the things Cas asked for. “You can sit here at my desk. Marv usually works at that one.”

“Do you have keys for the file cabinets?”

“Um, somewhere. I’ll look for those, too.”

Cas boots up his laptop and gets to work.

He quickly becomes absorbed in making sense out of the various pieces of paper. This is the part of accounting that Cas enjoys the most — fitting together pieces of a puzzle, like a jigsaw, until he can see the picture it forms. After a few initial questions he gets lost in the work, only vaguely aware when Dean excuses himself to go work on the Corvette, telling Cas to let him know if he has any questions. 

There’s no way he’s going to be able to get far enough to make sense of everything today. Best to review the available resources, and then come up with a strategy for putting it all into place. Starting with the bank statements makes sense, if they’re looking for why Dean’s profits aren’t where his gut tells him they should be. It’s possible that Dean doesn’t have as good of an understanding of his business’ financials as he should, but even if that’s the issue, Cas should be able to help him. There are many things that go into determining profitability. 

Is Dean pricing his services appropriately? Can he perform those services competitively with the chain shops, or are his costs enough higher than he has to accept lower profits? Is he taking advantage of available vendor discounts? Are the wages he pays his employees appropriate for the market? Does he have the right number of employees? Is he outsourcing where appropriate, and doing things in-house that are more economical to do there? 

Those questions are more challenging to address. For now he will just focus on tracing the cash flow from start to finish, making sure that everything is correct all the way through the process. Maybe if he does an in-depth analysis of a single month’s transactions he’ll be able to home in on a particular area of concern. January would be a good choice. It’s recent enough that the records should be easily accessible, yet far enough in the past that any timing differences should be resolved.

Humming to himself, Cas shifts his focus to start gathering those January details. Services performed, payment received, credit extended, deposits made… and on the disbursements side, orders made and shipments received, payments made, checks clearing the bank. He makes copies of various documents and lists of files he’d like access to, and starts a spreadsheet to track everything.

“Hey. Cas.” Dean taps on the desk in front of him, and laughs faintly when Cas startles and looks up, eyes wide like a deer in the headlights.

“Yes?”

“Wow. You really get into that, don’t you. I said your name three times before you surfaced enough to hear me.”

Cas flushes in embarrassment. “My apologies. This is very interesting, though. I haven’t worked with an automotive services client before. I am learning a great deal.”

“No need to apologize. I was just going to say it’s almost five. You getting hungry?”

He glances at the clock at the lower right hand corner of his screen and is surprised to realize Dean is right. “Oh. It is, isn’t it. I apologize; I did not intend to keep you here on your day off.”

“I probably would have been here anyhow, not like I have a lot of other things going on in my life. The restoration stuff is kind of a hobby. I mean, I make money from it, but I’d be doing it even if I didn’t.”

That raises all kinds of questions in Cas’ mind. Not that he hasn’t considered the questions before. Would it be intrusive to ask? Or would it be rude not to? These sorts of issues are what he considers so challenging about interpersonal relationships. 

He’s spared having to decide by Dean continuing. “Anyhow. I just got a text from Charlie. She’s wondering if we’re still coming over for movies. You still game?”

“Yes, I have no other plans. Thank you, I would enjoy that.” Cas starts to put the paperwork together again. “I have recorded some of the more recent records. It will take me a little longer to actually do the analysis and trace the transactions.”

“You seeing anything yet?” 

Cas considers what he wants to say. “It would be premature for me to come to any conclusions at this point. I will say, however, that the state of organization of your financial records seems to be rather haphazard. That could be the result of a person working on their own using a unique structure that works for them. However, it could also be a deliberate strategy to make it more difficult for anyone else to follow the trail. So in short, I have not laid any suspicions to rest at this point, but nor have I discovered any concrete evidence of wrongdoing. I will likely have some questions for you once I start analyzing the data.”

“Fair enough.” Dean reaches over to scoop up his keys, tossing them once with a jingle. “How about I meet you at your place, then I’ll drive us both to Charlie’s?”

“That would work admirably. Thank you.” 

Dean follows Cas back to his apartment, and when Cas gets in Dean’s beauty of a car, Dean turns towards him. “Charlie lives a little ways out of town. She has a sweet little house. Her girlfriend lives there when she’s home, but she’s a flight attendant and out of town a lot. I think Gilda’s on an international trip now and won’t be back for another week or so.”

Her girlfriend.

Charlie has a girlfriend. The use of the term ‘girlfriend’ rather than just ‘friend’ or ‘roommate’ has to be intentional, doesn’t it? Dean wouldn’t call this Gilda a girlfriend if it was a strictly platonic relationship, would he?

He can’t let it be obvious that casual comment has knocked him for a loop. Before, when Charlie called them ‘best buds’, he’d dismissed it, thinking people could be both best friends and be in a romantic relationship. But this? This is unequivocal. He forces himself to breathe in carefully, searches for some sort of an innocuous comment to get Dean to talk again and let Cas process that a little longer.

“Have you and Charlie been friends for a long time?”

“Yeah, we have. She’s a couple years younger than me, actually was in Sam’s year in high school. But once she came back to town after college we discovered we have a lot of things in common. Mostly nerdy things. Star Wars, Star Trek, other movies. Games. She’s a lot of fun, and, I don’t know. She’s just this bright little ray of sunshine, makes everything around her better, you know?”

Cas nods. “Yes, I can see that. Her enthusiasm and genuine goodness is refreshing. It’s impossible not to like her. I feel privileged that she’s decided that she likes me.”

“That’s exactly it. She’s enthusiastic about weird things, and completely unapologetic about it.”

Cas wonders if getting closer to Charlie will help him to be completely unapologetic about the things he’s enthusiastic about. He’s got the ‘enthusiastic about weird things’ part down. Not too many people get the same pleasure out of accounting that he does, or nature documentaries, or bees. There was a time when he was a child that he was unapologetic about his interests. He remembers being excited about seeing a different variety of honeybee on one of their few family vacations, and running into the house to tell everyone about it. That’s one of his first memories of being shut down and told to hush and sit quietly. 

It’s definitely not his last. 

Charlie’s house is small and older, but appears to be well-maintained. The clapboard siding is painted a cheerful shade of yellow, and there are enough winter-bare bushes that it’s clear it will be lovely once the weather warms up and everything leafs out. Dean parks in the street in front of the house, and leads Cas up the walkway. 

Charlie opens the door before they even get to it, welcoming them in with hugs. “I’m so glad you're here! What do you think, pizza?”

“Pizza sounds good.”

“Pizza it is.” 

They order a meat-lover’s pizza for delivery. Charlie already has beer in her refrigerator.  “This beer isn’t the greatest, but it isn’t the worst, either,” Dean comments. 

“Hey. Beggars can’t be choosers. Besides, you’re the one who bought it and left it last time.”

“And you haven’t polished it off yet?”

She wrinkles her nose. “Not a huge fan of drinking beer solo. Okay, so bathroom’s through that door,” she points out to Cas. “Kitchen’s over there, feel free to help yourself to whatever you want whenever you want it. And make yourself at home until the pizza gets here. I’ll go make the popcorn.”

Cas looks around the living room. It’s clear that Charlie has already staked out the single armchair, leaving a tumbler of ice water on a coaster beside it, and a colorful lap blanket dumped in the middle of the seat cushion. Dean grabs two beers from the fridge.

“So. Weird that we haven’t done anything like this before, isn’t it? We’ve known each other what, six months or so?” Dean settles in on one end of the sofa.

Cas sits on the other end, making sure to casually leave as much space as possible between the two of them. He’d rather leave no space at all. That, of course, was why he had to crowd into the far corner of the sofa. He doesn’t want to make Dean or Charlie uncomfortable. Or himself, as far as that goes.

“About that, by now. My first Association  meeting was during September.”

“Wow. Time flies.” Dean takes a sip of his beer, and looks oddly nervous before shaking it off. Perhaps it was just the lighting. “Anyhow. I’m guessing by your willingness to hang out with me today that either you don’t have anyone waiting for you at home, or else they’re out of town or something.”

Is Dean fishing for personal information? The same sort of fishing that Cas himself has wanted to do since they first met?

What does that mean? Does it mean anything? Is he overthinking everything again? 

Undoubtedly a yes to that last one. He was always either entirely oblivious or else he overanalyzed it. 

Keep it simple, Castiel. Just answer the damned question.

Carefully, perhaps. “The former. It’s only me at home. Well, me and Benford, my cat. He’s named after Benford’s Law, which is… an exceptionally nerdy accountant sort of a thing to do, and we will leave that right there, please.”

Dean laughs. “For now, maybe, but someday I want to hear all about Benford’s Law. It sounds like scintillating conversation, if it inspired you to name your cat after it.”

“Please.” Cas blushes furiously. 

“Sorry. I’m not mocking you. Teasing, maybe. I think it’s cool. So it’s just you.”

“Yes.” He takes another sip of his beer. He still isn’t convinced that Dean is genuinely interested in anything he has to say about himself, rather than being polite. Sharing anything personal is always a risk. If he hadn’t shared anything about himself and was rejected or dismissed, then it couldn’t be personal. If he had, however, that was a different story entirely. It was difficult enough when it happened with relative strangers. From Dean, however, it would be painful. The more he was around Dean, the more he wanted to be. 

“Same here,” Dean volunteers. “Just me. Hasn’t been anyone else in the picture for a long time.” He gets a faraway look. Then he shakes it off.

Charlie returns, jumping into the armchair and bringing her legs up to tuck under her rear. She reaches for the remote. “Want to start before the pizza gets here? Or wait so we don’t have to pause in the middle?”

“How long for the pizza?” Dean asks. “The usual 45 minutes?”

“About that, yeah.”

“What do you think, Cas? Charlie and I have seen these once or twice before.” 

Charlie snorts, by which Cas deduces that Dean may be understating the matter by a little. “We can start the movie.”

Star Wars is a revelation. Cas is quickly absorbed in it, and fascinated by how well such an old movie stands up, Perhaps some of the special effects are a bit primitive, but it’s hardly even noticeable, and the story itself is by turns amusing and thrilling. He can see the standard heroic fiction tropes being played out, but it doesn’t feel at all trite. He hardly notices when the pizza arrives, though he does notice Dean mouthing some of the dialog along with the characters on the screen.

When it’s over, both Dean and Charlie look at him anxiously, awaiting his verdict.

Because he has a devilish side he rarely lets out to play, he picks up a napkin and wipes the last remnants of pizza from his mouth, and takes another sip of beer.

“Cas!” Dean whines. “Stop being a turd. What did you think?”

“I enjoyed it. You said there are more?”

“Good God, Cas, have you lived under a rock your entire life?”

Charlie punches Dean in the shoulder. “Be nice, dude.” She turns back to Cas. “But seriously, he has a point. Yes, there are more. Have you seen the Star Trek movies? And what about Harry Potter? Lord of the Rings?”

Cas shrugs, and the two of them groan nearly in unison. 

“This is going to be a lengthy education project,” Charlie solemnly intones. 

“Months,” Dean agrees, equally solemn. “Maybe even years. If we get into TV shows too.”

And there it is — a bubble of joy that Cas hardly dares to acknowledge, because ‘lengthy’ project means they want to keep him around, and it has been such a long time since he’s had anyone that wants him around. He has to look down to hide the surge of emotion that he’s sure must be visible in his eyes. If he’s not careful he might even get a little teary, and that just won’t do.

Charlie rubs her hands together. “So do we start tonight, still? You guys could crash here if you want. It’s nothing fancy, but might be fun. Pajama party!” She grins. 

“You good with that, Cas? I’ll bring you home if not.”

“It should be fine. Benford will be okay overnight. He may not be best pleased with me, but he’ll be fine.”

“Awesome. Okay, so next is The Empire Strikes Back, and it’s the best. Return of the Jedi is kind of hokey.” 

“I don’t know why everyone hates Ewoks so much,” Charlie says. “I mean, obviously not everyone hates Ewoks. I don’t hate Ewoks. The cute and cuddly direction may not have been the best artistic choice for the series, but Ewoks beat Jar Jar hands down.”

“What language are you speaking?”

Charlie grins and laughs. “See, he’s funny.” She looks at Dean. “He’s funny, amiright?”

Dean smiles too, and moves to replace the DVD in the player with the next movie.


	4. April

Charlie invites Dean and Cas back to continue Cas’ pop culture education, but he has to take a rain check, because it’s April.

April, as in Tax Day. April 15th, or the first business day thereafter, with occasional further modifications for various arcane reasons having to do with Federal holidays or holidays in the District of Columbia. This is Cas’ first year owning his own accounting practice, but he’s familiar with the routine at his previous employer and has no reason to believe anything will be different in Cherryvale.

Every year, people call in a panic, whether because for some reason they have forgotten that tax returns are due in April, (because they haven’t  _ always _ been due in April) or because they think they can do them themselves but discover there is some complication that they can’t figure out, or they calculate that they owe more than they anticipate and go into a tailspin. Whatever the reason, and Cas has heard some impressive ones over the years, it means that the first half of April is the busiest time of his year. Even Hannah and Joshua are working taxes, and everyone works long hours at the office and then brings work home on top of it. 

Sundays are no longer a day off, at least not for the first half of April. It will be more than two solid weeks of working every day. It will be exhausting, and he will have to remain polite with clients even as said clients sometimes exhibit truly remarkable levels of stupidity. When he’s overtired he does privately think ‘stupidity’ rather than the more charitable ‘ignorance’, because ignorant or not, he doesn’t think there’s any excuse to wait until April to even start looking. Do people honestly think the issue is going to miraculously disappear if they wait to even start their taxes until April 14?

Even so, Cas doesn’t like to turn anyone away, partly because turning away clients means turning away income, but even more than that, he dislikes refusing people when he has the ability to help them. Tax returns are a surprisingly emotional topic. His uncharitable thoughts are generally limited to when he has low blood sugar and is tired enough that the columns of numbers on his laptop start wavering.

Despite how busy he is, Cas still manages to spend some time working through Dean’s records. It is usually late at night when he gets back to his home, or else on weekend mornings when he allows himself the indulgence of not getting to the office until after 9. Working on it in small bursts isn’t helping with trying to figure out patterns, but at least he is getting the transactions transcribed into a fresh spreadsheet formatted the way he likes to work. 

After he’s home earlier than usual one evening, he finishes with the dishes. Sometimes he doesn’t bother with the dishwasher. If he only made a simple sandwich and salad, it’s easier to just wash up the few dishes he made and put them away. He settles on the couch with a cup of herbal tea, puts his feet up on the coffee table. 

Benford jumps up onto his lap, kneads his thighs. “You do realize that no matter how much you do that, you’re not going to be able to squish them into a more comfortable shape.”

The cat looks at him once, then resumes the kneading. Cas chuckles and settles him down, playing with his ears. Benford starts purring.

It’s peaceful. Relaxing, after a long day of taxes. Perhaps he should have stayed at the office for another hour or two. But no. He needs these breaks now and again. 

The problem is that his mind doesn’t slow down quickly. Putting the tax calculations away just means that he starts thinking about other things. “What do you think, Bens? Given what you now know about Dean’s business, if Marv — or another employee, but clearly Marv is the one with the most opportunity — was embezzling from Dean, how would he be doing it?”

Benford’s stretches out along Cas’ thigh, settling his fore paws on his knee and sinking down to rest his chin on them. The cat is a warm, vibrating lump. These trousers are going to need the lint roller taken to them. 

“Let’s start with the basics. Where are the points that are vulnerable? Transition points. When money moves from the client to Dean, and when it moves from Dean to his suppliers. Or from Dean to his employees, though those could be considered a subset of his suppliers, since they supply the labor. So I should concentrate on those areas. It all comes down to the bank statements, tracing deposits all the way from services rendered, and tracing payments back to invoices. Examining the invoices to make sure they look valid. Checking that there aren’t duplicate payments.”

He scratches his nails through the thicker fur at the ruff of Benford’s neck, tipping his head back as he thinks. “It won’t hurt to look for a little while, right? Even if I did promise Hannah I would watch TV and relax?” He sits up more and reaches for his laptop, conveniently within reach on the coffee table. He shifts Benford more to the side, so that he lies like a sausage roll between Cas’ thigh and the arm of the sofa, then sets the laptop up on his knees. “Deposit side first.” With a hum of contentment, he starts setting up his tracking spreadsheet. It should be simple enough. Customer comes to shop. Customer gets service. Customer pays for service. Payment is in the form of either cash, check, or credit. Mostly credit, but there’s still a decent amount of payment by check. The population of Cherryvale skews older, and older people are more likely to pay by check than younger ones. 

The credit transactions are easy enough to track. It’s all electronic, and more difficult to divert the funds. He just has to get copies of the detail file from Dean, and then he can trace each customer payment to the bank deposit from the credit card companies. He’s honestly not expecting any issues there, but he needs to trace them for the sake of completeness. 

He should also trace the service logs to customer billing, make sure all of the service appointments actually got billed and paid for. 

It’s a jigsaw puzzle, and fitting everything together is a challenge, but exhilarating when the pictures start to form.

By the time his phone chirps at him with his ‘get your ass in bed’ reminder, he’s frowning. He needs more of Dean’s paperwork, but tracing the cash and check payments is proving a challenge. It seems that Marv isn’t diligent about bundling them together into deposits on a regular basis, putting them in the bank when he feels like it rather than on a regular schedule. They should be deposited daily, or at the least weekly, but that is far from what’s happening. It’s not like the bank is inconvenient. Cherryvale isn’t that large. Getting to the bank and back would take at most fifteen minutes.

On top of that, it seems that sometimes checks aren’t deposited with the first bundle. A customer might write a check for payment that isn’t deposited for three more bank deposits. What the hell is happening? Is Marv just shoving them into a drawer and then finding them under used napkins two weeks later?

It makes Cas angry. No one should be that careless. It… it  _ offends _ him, on a deep level.

Benford shifts, digging his claws into Cas’ thigh, standing up and shifting. 

“Yes, yes. I need some herbal tea, and then I’ll go to bed,” he grumpily assures the cat.

 

Saturday afternoon, Cas takes a brief walk outside to get some fresh air. He’s found that taking fifteen minutes to get away from his desk and get some exercise makes an immense difference in both his mood and his mental alertness. It saves him far more than fifteen minutes in increased efficiency. He slows down when he reaches the city park, detouring onto the path beside the creek. The trees are beginning to leaf out, and it’s a lovely, warm day. 

He pulls his phone out, finds Dean in his list of contacts, and calls him. “Hello Dean. Do you have a couple minutes?”

“Heya Cas — sure. What’s up?” The muted sound of music is in the background. Cas wonders if Dean is still at the garage, perhaps working on that Corvette again, or if he’s at home this time. 

“I have taken a little more of a look at your records, and I think it would be helpful to get copies of your deposit advices and cashed checks from your bank. They may charge you a small fee for it, but getting them directly from the bank rather than from your office would be beneficial. I don’t believe I have copies of everything. And if there are any shenanigans going on, getting the documentation directly from the original source could be illuminating.”

“Shenanigans?” Dean repeats, amusement in his tone. 

Cas scowls, though of course Dean can’t see him. 

“Sure, that makes sense. I think the bank is closed by now today, but I’ll stop over there Monday and see what I can get. How much do you want?”

“The entire month of January at a minimum. December through current would be even better.”

“December through current, got it. You know you don’t have to work on my stuff right now when you’re so swamped, right?”

“It’s a mental break from the taxes and quarter end for regular clients.”

“How is that a mental break? It’s still numbers and dollars and financial records. I’d think it would just be more of the same.”

“You would think so, yes, but somehow it isn’t. I don’t know why. Perhaps because it’s a puzzle?” Or maybe because it’s for Dean, and it’s important to Cas to help him. It’s one of those things that Cas doesn’t want to examine too closely. Also, it’s niggling at him. There’s something wrong there, he knows it even if he won’t say so yet to Dean, and until he figures it out it will be a constant poke at the back of his mind.

“Huh. Well, just take care of yourself, okay? You won’t be doing your clients any favors if you end up making yourself sick.”

“I am actually out at the park right now. I have learned that it is worth it to take a short break away from the office. I need to be heading back now, though.”

“Okay. I’ll bring you the records once I have them. Glad you’re getting some fresh air. Maybe instead of a movie night we should do something outside after tax day. I’ll see what the options are.”

The casual, easy assumption that their association now involves more than just movie night warms Cas. “Mm. That is an idea. Good bye for now, Dean.”

“Bye, Cas.”

 

On Monday evening, Rachel escorts a client out the front door of the office, newly signed returns in hand, and locks the door behind her. She leans her head against the door. 

“One more week,” Hannah says. “Just one week. Hang in there.”

“Yes,” Cas agrees. “Hang in there. We’ve made it this far. We can make it the rest of the way. And then remember I’m taking all of us out for a spectacular lunch.” He believes in rewarding effort and showing his appreciation for a job well done. The date would have to be about a week after filing day, because celebrating is secondary to reconnecting with loved ones and catching up on sleep.

“And drinks,” Rachel adds. “Many, many drinks.”

“Many drinks, yes, certainly. Perhaps I will also arrange for a limousine service.” 

Rachel flashes him a grin, then takes a deep breath. “Oh, yes. Okay. One more client checked off.” She lifts the manila folder with the documents in victory, then sets it down in the wire basket on her desk. “Not counting how many to go.” 

Later, there is a knock at the door. Cas frowns, pulled out of the numbers he’d been cross-checking for Rachel and glances at his watch. It is after ten. Who could possibly be here at this time of night? No one rational would think they would still be open for business. “I’ve got it,” he says, standing up.

His back creaks alarmingly and a twinge of pain shoots up his spine. Clearly he’s been sitting too long with the bad posture he sometimes develops when working too late. 

Pulling the mini-blinds away from the window in the front door, he is surprised to see Dean standing there, balancing a cardboard drink tray in one hand and carrying a large grocery bag in the other. He also has a messenger bag slung over his shoulder.

The sight of the other man makes his heart race. It’s been over a week now since he’s actually seen him. 

He finds the deadbolt and turns it, opening the door. “Dean? What--?”

“Heya, Cas,” he says, his grin brightening the night, his expression shy, hopeful, and pleased with himself all at the same time. “I was driving by, saw the lights were still on in here, and figured you could probably use some coffee. Better stuff. May I?” 

“Oh. Yes, certainly.” He steps aside to let Dean in, reaching out to take the tray from him. The aroma of fresh coffee penetrates the fuzz of numbers in his brain. 

“Do I smell coffee?” Hannah’s voice floats out to the reception area from the back office. 

“Come on back, I will introduce you to my colleagues,” Cas offers. “And give you the grand tour of my office. I don’t believe you’ve been here before.”

“Right. This is my first time.” He stops when he steps through the connecting door and sees the work space — and the four desks arranged in there. “Hi guys.” He raises a hand in greeting.

Everyone stares at him, particularly Hannah. Not so much in a rude way as in an I’ve-been-working-so-long-my-brain-doesn’t-function-quite-right sort of a way. “Hi,” Hannah speaks first, breaking the silence. 

“These are my colleagues. Hannah, Joshua, and Rachel. Everyone, meet Dean.” Cas sets the tray of coffee down on the counter they use for break room and office supplies. There is an old coffee maker there that smells of old coffee, which is a particularly unappetizing scent, but no one has taken the time to clean the carafe out as thoroughly as it needs. There’s still some coffee in it, because this time of year it’s never empty.

Dean gestures towards the coffee he brought. “Help yourselves. It’s just black because I didn’t know how you guys took your coffee, but I figured if you were still working this late at night you could probably use it.”

“Oh, you are an angel sent from heaven with mana,” Rachel says, not being shy about going to score a cup. “Hi, I’m Rachel.”

Hannah is definitely staring while trying not to stare. She may have somehow read between the lines when he’s spoken about the CSBOA meetings, and deduced that it isn’t only the subject matter of the presentations that draws him there. He feels a prickle at the base of his neck, much like when he was five and got caught plotting how best to raid the cookie jar. 

He still rather resents that he got the punishment without ever getting so far as to actually liberate a cookie.

Dean looks to Cas, raises a brow in question.

Cas just shrugs, not particularly wanting to go into it right now. 

“Pleasure to meet you, Dean,” Joshua says, accepting the coffee that Cas sets by his hand. Cas goes over to the laminate countertop and brings the sugar to Joshua, pulls the cream out of the small refrigerator for Hannah. Both he and Rachel take their coffee black. Cas actually prefers tea with honey, but late nights in tax season call for stronger measures.

He takes a sip, and oh. It’s good. Dark, bitter in the way that coffee is supposed to be, smooth. He actually moans from the pleasure of it. “Where on earth did you find someone selling fresh coffee this time of night?” 

Dean blushes at that. “Well, ah, I may have pulled a couple strings for that. I brought food too.” He sets the bag down and pulls out the contents -- an assortment of meats and cheeses, and additional ingredients for cold sandwiches, capped with a loaf of fresh-baked bread. “It’ll keep until later if you don’t want it now.”

“You are definitely a keeper,” Hannah moans, pushing her chair back hurriedly and coming over to help get the buffet set up. She turns towards Cas after she wipes down the back counter with a few paper towels. 

Dean laughs. “Mighty kind of you, ma’am. Cas, I think I was promised the grand tour before I leave you guys to your work?”

“Yes, of course.” Cas takes another sip of the wonderful coffee, then sets the cup down on his desk. “This is the office where we do most of our work.” It’s open, with low dividing walls between the four separate work spaces, and one wall dominated by filing cabinets. He continues to show Dean around. It really doesn’t take long. His office suite doesn’t even have its own private bathroom; that is located down the hall. At least that means he also doesn’t have to clean those bathrooms himself. There’s one private room attached to the reception area he’s chosen to use as a meeting space with clients, available for any of the staff, instead of using it for his own office. He’d rather be right there with everyone rather than closed off in a private space. “Most of the time we meet with clients at their place of business, but some clients prefer to come here.”

They are already back at the front entrance. 

“Thanks,” Dean says. “I hope it wasn’t too much of an interruption, me showing up here.”

“No, not at all. It was kind of you, and much appreciated. This last week is the worst of all.”

“Yeah, you look exhausted.” Dean studies his face, his gaze lingering around his eyes where Cas wouldn’t doubt there are deep bags. “But I know how it goes. Sometimes you just need to keep going anyhow. So. Hang in there, dude. It’s almost over.”

“I know. One more week, and then the office will be closed until the following Monday.”

“Oh, hey, I brought that paperwork you asked for. Though I’m half tempted to not give it to you yet, if you’re going to use it.” He slides the messenger bag down, setting it on the nearest flat surface, and pulls out a large envelope fastened with a metal clasp.

“Withholding the documents would be unlikely to stop me from working on the project. It would simply make it more difficult.”

“Yeah, thought you might say something like that.” He hands the well-stuffed envelope across. “You sure you won’t let me pay for your services? This seems like a lot.”

“Quite sure.”

“Then I’m taking you to dinner afterwards. No negotiating on that. Somewhere nicer than burgers, too.” Dean’s chin firms, daring Cas to protest.

Cas knows when to gracefully accept defeat. “Very well. When tax season is over. Or perhaps when I’ve finished the project.”

“When tax season is over. We’ll do it when the project’s over too. But we’ll go after you’ve gotten the last returns filed. Or maybe the next day, under the assumption that you’ll probably be sleeping for sixteen hours straight. Or more.”

That was worth a chuckle. “Quite likely,” he acknowledges. “We’ll talk when it’s closer to the day. Thank you for coming, Dean, and thank you even more for the coffee and sandwiches. They are very much appreciated.”

“You are very much welcome. Gotta make sure you’re taken care of, and right now I’m not convinced I can trust you to do it for yourself.” Dean’s smile is absolutely breathtaking. He bumps his shoulder against Cas’, then turns the doorknob. “See you later.”

And then he is gone.

His three employees all look at him when he returns to their workspace. Hannah made an extra sandwich and plated it up, set it down next to his laptop. She grins at him, and the expressions of the other two, while more subtle, are still vaguely smug and amused.

“He’s a  _ friend _ ,” he insists, but if anything they only get more smug. He sighs. “Go ahead. Get it out of your system so we can get back to work. 

“Oh, no,” Hannah says. “Nothing to say here. Just… he’s definitely eye candy. And that was sweet. Very sweet.” She lifts her sandwich and deliberately takes a bite. “These are excellent sandwiches. It’s the good deli meat, did you notice? Not just the cheap pre-packaged stuff? The stuff that they slice off of the big hunk to order.”

“The big hunk.” Rachel obviously can’t resist.

Cas sighs again. “I am going to get four more returns finished, and then I am going home to feed my cat and get my five hours of sleep. I highly recommend you do the same.”

“Yes sir, Mr. Novak, sir.”

 

After that, Dean makes a point out of stopping by after he finishes work each day, bringing coffee. He finds out how everyone likes their drinks, with or without flavored syrups, cream and sugar or sweetener, and usually brings a snack of some sort as well. Sometimes it’s cookies, sometimes cupcakes, sometimes a pie, often with a few pieces of fruit as well ‘because ok, never tell Sammy, but sometimes more nutritious stuff is good too’. 

He doesn’t stay long, because it’s obvious they’re busy. Cas isn’t entirely sure what’s going on, but he definitely appreciates it. It screams of taking care of someone that you care about, and it’s been such a long time since anyone has made any sort of effort to take care of  _ him _ that he hardly knows what to do about it, how to accept it, or even what to say. So he keeps it simple and just says thank you, hoping that Dean understands how much he appreciates the effort, and even more the thoughtfulness behind it. 

It’s just… nice. 

 

Dean calls Cas shortly after noon on the Friday after Tax Day. Cas is seated on his living room couch, wearing sloppy old sweats with a few small holes here and there, notably one just above his knee that had started out the size of a pinhead but is now more the size of a tangerine. Cas  needs to get over his nervous habit of shoving his index finger into the hole and worrying at it. He hasn’t shaved yet, hadn’t yesterday either, so his five o’clock shadow is now more properly characterized as scruff. Benford sits beside him, paws crossed delicately, eyes closed, purring contentedly.

When Cas’ cell rings he picks it up to look at the caller ID, a rush of nerves like the wings of a flock of sparrows beating in his chest when he sees it’s Dean. “Hello, Dean.”

“Heya, Cas. You back in the land of the living? Get all your stuff done in time?”

“Yes, Dean. All of the clients’ returns or extensions were properly filed, and I can go back to Rachel handling tax issues for the next ten and a half months. We actually finished with two hours to spare, even with additional clients this year.”

“Awesome.” The warmth in Dean’s voice is soothing and delicious. Cas’ mind takes him to fantasies of lying back in his bed, snuggled in a nest of pillows and blankets and Dean, cocooned in darkness. The small fantasy isn’t a new one, but for the last couple weeks it has had a new vibrancy as they started spending time together outside of the CSBOA meetings. There are also the sex fantasies, of course, but oddly the cuddling one seems more intimate and serious. 

“Say, I was thinking… you said you’ve got the day entirely off, right? You’re at home right now, not at the office?”

Cas blinks, feels a rush of heat as he realizes he’s not successfully keeping those fantasies locked away. They somehow feel more shocking when he’s actually talking to Dean, even if it’s over the phone rather than in person. Focus, Novak, he tells himself. Focus. Be in the moment.

“That is correct. The office is closed, though I’m checking voicemail and email, and I left the number for my business cell in case anyone desperately needs an accountant.” Even he can hear the dry humor in his voice. Accounting doesn’t generally lend itself to life or death emergencies, at least not after the tax deadline has passed.

Dean chuckles on the other end of the line. Cas’ fingers twitch. He lays his head back into the softness of the sofa, closing his eyes to better listen. Benford jumps up onto the sofa and shoves his head under Cas’ hand, demanding to be pet. Cas absently scratches behind the cat’s ears, while Benford starts a low, rumbling purr. “Do you think the risks of an accounting emergency are low enough that we could move up the time we get together? It’s a slow day over here, and I was thinking of taking off a little earlier and letting Garth handle closing tonight.”

Cas sits up again, his interest pricking. “How much earlier?” He hopes his voice still sounds normal, rather than squeaking with excitement at the idea of seeing Dean sooner. 

“Four o’clock sound good? And casual. I thought we can hang out for a while, continue your pop culture education, then go to the college baseball game. You okay with that? I’m not sure how you feel about sports, honestly.” 

“Four o’clock sounds great. I am what could best be called a fair weather fan. I get caught up in the excitement when a local team is doing well, and I know enough about the various sports to follow fairly well, but I don’t usually make a point out of following sports. However, attending such events in person is an entirely different experience than watching them on television when I am home alone. Much more enjoyable.”

“Awesome. I’ll see you then.” 

“I look forward to it. Until then.”

As soon as the call ends, Cas gets to his feet and looks around. The apartment isn’t in terrible condition, he supposes, though it certainly isn’t spotless. He hasn’t been spending enough time there to accumulate a mess. He makes a quick pass to collect any dirty dishes and corral shoes and socks. He has a bad habit of taking them off the moment he gets home, and he isn’t always prompt about putting the socks in his dirty laundry bag. Sometimes Benford ends up tussling with them, and they ended up in random corners of the apartment. Cas doesn’t understand the appeal of dirty socks, but that isn’t the only thing Benford does that makes no sense.

Still, it’s oddly hilarious to watch his normally cool and aloof cat wrestling with a pair of dirty socks, then hauling them off one at a time as though they’re some great treasure. Sometimes he even glares at Cas, as though challenging him to say anything about this addiction that Benford is not proud of, but refuses to feel shame for.

Cas smiles to himself, and returns his attention to the apartment. If he had time he’d sweep the kitchen and vacuum the carpet before Dean arrived, but that has to be prioritized behind getting ready himself. He has two hours. That should be time for both. Unless he has to do laundry. 

No. That was the one thing he’d managed to accomplish yesterday, so the shirts and jeans he would choose between should be clean. But not ironed, damnit. He’d left the shirts in the dryer, so by now they are probably a mass of wrinkles, and that just won’t do.

Fuck. Why was he so careless with that? Just because he’d sat down to watch some mindless afternoon television while the dryer ran, and subsequently fell asleep and didn’t wake up again until late in the evening… well. He’ll have to allocate time for ironing. 

First things first, however. He plucks at the t-shirt he’s wearing and wrinkles his nose. It smells like stale pizza and unwashed Castiel. He pulls it up and off, balling it in his hands until he reaches his bag of dirty laundry.

After a shower and shave and a light application of his favorite cologne, he stares at himself critically in the mirror. Ordinarily he would apply some gel to his hair to get it to lay flat if he was going out, but since this is just an evening with a friend, rather than a date… and ordinarily? Who is he kidding? It’s been a ridiculously long time since the last time he was on a date. Before he’d moved to Cherryvale, honestly. 

This isn’t a date. It isn’t. Even if his racing heart has yet to be convinced.

Gods, he’s pathetic. Maybe it would make a humorous story to share with Dean. Should he share that kind of a story? Would it come across as humorous, or just indicate that he was a walking disaster when it came to social interactions? Dean has undoubtedly noticed that by now, and wants to spend time with him anyhow. 

This is just so hard. It’s hard enough when he’s only mildly interested in a person. With Dean, everything is multiplied. He cares so much.

He decides to leave his hair without the gel. It’s getting a little longer than he usually keeps it; tax season didn’t allow time for trips to the barber. If he puts enough gel in his hair to keep it under control, it would looks like he’s wearing a helmet, or has plastic Ken-doll hair, or else that he hasn’t washed it in three weeks. None of those options are acceptable, so he grudgingly goes with the unstyled look where it occasionally decides to stick out in random directions, and curls at the nape of his neck and behind his ears. 

It takes him so long to decide between the black tee and the soft heathered blue-gray sweater that he doesn’t have time to run the vacuum cleaner, for fear he won’t hear the door. Even after deciding on the sweater he almost changes his mind at the last minute, opting instead to push the sleeves up his forearms. That makes it look more casual, and it isn’t a tight sweater, so it should be okay. A vee-neck sweater in cool weather doesn’t run the risk of being Mr. Rogers Neighborhood, he’s fairly sure. It isn’t a cardigan or a sweater vest -- both of which he owns, but doesn’t wear in public. Often. Doesn’t wear in public often.

He’s been told that the sweater’s blue color brings out his eyes. Granted that was probably five years ago, but his eyes haven’t changed color in the last five years, so it’s probably still true.

The doorbell rings, and Cas freezes while Benford takes off like a shot, disappearing to his favorite hiding spot under the bed. Is it four already? Shit. He doesn’t even have his shoes and socks on yet! “Be right there,” he calls out, taking one last look in the mirror, despairing of his messy hair, then heads to the door and opens it.

“Heya, Cas.” Dean stands on the other side with his usual charming grin, and looks Cas over head to toe. He smirks when he gets to the ‘toe’ part. “Cute as your bare feet are, you might want shoes,” he suggests helpfully.

Cas scowls. “Thank you for the advice.”

“My pleasure. I’ve been told I’m Captain Obvious, but of course I don’t see it myself.”

Holding the door open farther, Cas steps aside, making room for Dean to enter. “Come in. It will just take me another moment to finish getting ready.” He doesn’t wait for Dean to get settled before heading back towards his bedroom to retrieve the socks. Just before stepping inside he turns back. Dean’s head tilts up immediately, startled, a pink flush spreading over the bridge of his nose and across his cheeks. “What?”

“Uh. Nothing.” Dean runs his hand through his hair, but then visibly puts his cocky mask back on. “Just admiring the view. That’s a good look on you. I usually see you in the accountant costume, you know? I like the bare feet.”

“I don’t usually wear shoes at home. Or socks, though it’s just starting to get warm enough to forego them.” He reaches inside to his dresser, which is right inside the door, and retrieves a pair of socks. He starts to return to the living room, but then realizes that would mean putting his socks on in front of Dean, and, well, he doesn’t see how that can be done gracefully. So he stays inside his room long enough to slip them onto his feet.

When he comes back out, Dean is blatantly obvious about looking around the apartment. Castiel hopes, prays, that he hadn’t missed anything embarrassing when he did his quick sweep through the space earlier. “Nice place you got here. Comfortable. How long have you been here?”

“Since a couple weeks after I started my practice here. The first month or two I was in Cherryvale I lived out of the Houdini Hotel.”

Dean winces. “Dude. That place is nasty.”

“Yes. But it was inexpensive, and provided a place to sleep. I can afford nicer accommodations for short trips, but two months at $200 per night would have added up very very fast.” 

He could see Dean doing the mental math. “Yeah, okay, I got it.” He steps forward to look at some of the objects on one of Cas’ bookshelves — he has four in the living room, and another two in his bedroom. They are overflowing with books, though he does have a few other objects on display as well. “You like to read, huh?”

“Yes. Very much. I haven’t had as much time for it as I would like, this time of year, but when I take vacation I am planning on bringing a number of novels with me.”

“I could spend a while here figuring out what your taste in reading material says about you, but we have other plans.” He lifts the bag he’d carried in with him. “I brought some music, figured if you didn’t know Star Wars you probably weren’t up to speed on classic rock, either. I forgot to ask if you had a CD player. These are actually better on vinyl. I’ve got both, though, because turntables aren’t always that easy to find.” 

“No, I don’t suppose they are.” Cas points out the stereo system on the bookshelf. He’s had it since he was a teenager,, but he’s seen no reason to replace it.

“There we go,” Dean grins and checks it out. “Okay, this should be easy enough to figure out. You have a CD collection?”

“Yes, in the boxes on the lower shelves.”

“Mind if I take a look once we get started here? I’m curious.”

“I don’t mind.”

Soon Dean has loaded a couple of the CDs he’d brought into the player, and starts them up. “This. This is Zepp. Be prepared to be blown away.” 

Cas arches a brow, but seats himself and listens obediently. The music is the sort that may grow on him as he becomes more familiar with it, though he doesn’t immediately fall in love with it. “The instrumentation is quite different from what I usually listen to.”

Dean flips through Cas’ collection. “Well, you’ve got mostly classical orchestra stuff here, so yeah. Classic rock isn’t so heavy on the string sections, unless you count electric guitar.”

“Technically it is a string instrument, isn’t it?”

“Well, technically. I guess. So. Led Zeppelin.” Dean sits cross-legged on the floor and starts sharing a history on the band, and some information about the songs, pausing the player after each one completes. It’s surprisingly interesting. 

“You speak of music much differently than the teachers I had growing up.”

“You took music lessons? Do you play anything?”

“Mm,” Cas hums a slight acknowledgment. “I took piano lessons as a child. My piano teacher also believed that a strong foundation in music theory was important, so occasionally my lessons involved writing out scales and various chords and chord progressions.”

“Yeah? That’s cool. I’m all self-taught. Which I suppose has its pros and cons. Pros being that I could concentrate on the things that I was interested in. Cons being that if I wasn’t interested, I didn’t learn it. You probably know a lot more about the technical side than I do.”

“Perhaps. There is a correlation between music and numbers. Particularly Bach.”

Dean starts flipping through Cas’ collection of CDs, lingering on the Bach and Rachmaninov, and the Mozart, and then again when he hit the section devoted to Celtic folk music.

When the CD ends, Cas tips his head to the side. “So. Is my music collection entirely unacceptable?”

“Hell no, of course not. Incomplete, maybe.” Dean flashes him a grin. Damn. He has to stop with that, if Cas is going to make it through this evening. That smile is ridiculously adorable, and makes the man look ten years younger. “Don’t tell Sammy, but I actually enjoy a bit of classical music once in awhile. Once in a great while.”

“Mozart is brilliant. I also quite enjoy Rachmaninov, and more recently, Gershwin. Their piano pieces are amazing. I used to enjoy playing them more than some other composers. I haven’t played in many years.”

“Yeah? Why’d you stop?”

“I didn’t have ready access to a piano when I went away to college, and drifted away from it. Perhaps one day I will take it up again.”

“I always wanted to play the guitar. I actually took it up for a couple months in my junior year, but… well. It didn’t work out.” There is that far-away look again, the one that both makes Cas’ heart ache and piques his curiosity. A fleeting fantasy of having a piano again, and accompanying Dean on the guitar while there is a snow or rain storm outside teases him.

“Anyhow. It’s getting late. We should get moving if we’re going to get to the game on time. I’ll leave you these CDs, and you can listen to them when you have time.”

“Thank you.” After checking Benford’s food and water, Cas locks his apartment door behind him, then follows Dean down the single flight of stairs to the ground level. If his gaze lingers on the other man’s ass and thighs, well, there is no one to witness it.

“You like living here?” Dean asks, making conversation when they get to the car and get settled inside.

“It suits me for the time being. It isn’t far from the office. When the weather is amenable it’s close enough that I can walk or run there, and the rent is reasonable. Plus they allow pets, so I can have a cat.”

“That’s right. I didn’t see him.”

“Benford took off to hide under the bed as soon as the doorbell rang. He is not particularly fond of strangers. I usually don’t see him until an hour or two after any guests depart.”

“Benford. Didn’t you say you named him after some accounting thing?.”

Cas feels himself flushing. “Yes.” He considers leaving it there rather than admit to the source of the name, but decides that it would be cowardly to evade the question. What was the phrase that Charlie had used? Let your geek flag fly? “I devoted a small section of my presentation last month to a discussion of Benford’s Law. I find it fascinating.”

“Oh, was that the thing about distribution of the first digit of numbers in sequential lists not being a straight line?”

Cas smiles, pleased that Dean had remembered. “Yes. For naturally occurring populations, for example the page number of a randomly selected page in a book, or street addresses, or invoice numbers, the first digit of the number is most likely to be a one. Most people assume that all the digits would occur with equal frequency, but that’s not true. It has applications in the detection of fraud because someone who is trying to falsify documents often goes out of their way to try and make identifying numbers appear random, when in fact the population is not as random as the false information.”

“Yeah, that one. So it makes you all squishy inside to think about it, enough so that you named your cat Benford?”

“I may have thought myself clever, yes.” All squishy inside? Numbers don’t make him nearly as ‘squishy’ as Dean himself does. He needs to move along from that train of thought, and the sooner the better. “Do you have any pets?”

“Nah, nothing for me. My brother Sam has a big golden retriever now that he’s finally done with school and settled down. Her name’s Lucy, and she’s a sweetheart — but don’t tell him I said that. It’s my sacred duty as the older brother to give Sam shit about stuff like that.”

“Does Sam live in Cherryvale?”

“No. He and Eileen, are living in Virginia while she finishes up her master’s degree in social services. I told you he’s a lawyer, right?”

“Yes, and that he went to school at Stanford before moving to the DC area and meeting her. How long have they been married?”

“A little over a year. Eileen’s actually originally from Ireland, but she’s been living in the States since she was a kid.” Dean drums his fingers against the steering wheel, a small frown between his eyes. 

Cas shifts in the passenger seat so that he’s facing slightly towards Dean. “What are you thinking about, Dean? You seem distracted.”

“I promised myself I wouldn’t ask if you’ve seen anything more in the records you’re reviewing,” Dean says. “I know you’ve been busy and haven’t really had time to look.”

Cas tips his head to the side. “There’s no reason we can’t discuss it. It is understandable if it has been weighing on you. If talking about it for a while will help you to relax more for the rest of the evening, it seems as though it would be time well spent. Have you noticed anything further, now that your suspicions have been raised?”

Dean’s hands tighten around the steering wheel. His fingers are calloused and slightly discolored from the oil and other car fluids he works with every day, not soft and pale like Castiel’s own hands. Would those fingertips feel rough on his own skin? How would Dean touch? Would his touch be gentle and soft, or firm and demanding? 

Cas mouth waters. Either would be delicious. He looks out the side window, needing to not be looking at Dean just now. He can’t be noticing the way those freckles are sprinkled across his cheeks, catching the sunlight. He can’t watch the way the sun highlights the edges of his long eyelashes.

“I just don’t like not trusting him, you know? It makes me feel sick.”

He needs to get his head back on the current topic. He drags his thoughts back to numbers. “That is entirely natural and understandable. No one likes being a victim, Dean.”

“Do you think something’s going on?”

Cas bites his lower lip. “Yes. I do. I’ve been looking at your records. It’s been busy, yes, but I’ve still found some time to do so.” At the expense of sleeping as many hours as he should, but Dean doesn’t have to know that. It was something he’d wanted to do. “Obviously I don’t have any of the information with me right now, but I have some suspicions about what he’s doing. The next time I come to your shop I have some specific things I would like to look at to confirm my thoughts. If you’re open to it, I have been considering ways to test my theory as well.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mm. Yes. I will need to recruit someone to act as my assistant. I have some thoughts on who would suit.”

“Secret shopper sort of a thing? Not a bad idea. People act differently around strangers than they do in front of people they know.”

“Exactly. Also, if Marv remembers that you and I are acquainted, unless he is quite overconfident he is unlikely to push his luck by using me in his fraudulent actions. I thought I could have someone bring their car in for service, and structure the transaction in a way that is most likely to fit into the patterns I’ve seen, and trace it from there. There are no guarantees that he would take the bait, but the probability would be enhanced.”

“How soon do you want to try this?”

“Not until I’ve had a chance to review some more things. May I come back to your office again? It would be easier to look at things myself rather than asking for copies of things I don’t even know are there. I also have questions about how to relate the paperwork to what actually happens.”

The conversation moves away from such serious matters to lighter things: Cas’ book collection, Dean’s love of his car, Benford the cat, until they arrive at the college baseball field for the game. 

“It’s early in the season, and the team is only mediocre, so it’s probably not going to be that crowded,” Dean admits. “But it’s baseball.”

“And you’re fond of baseball. When does your summer league start?”

“As soon as the school season is over, so early June.”

Dean pays for their tickets, over Cas’ protests. “You’re doing me a huge favor with this Marv thing, Cas. It’s the least I can do.”

Cas narrows his gaze, but allows it. For now. They find their seats and settle in. Cas hails a vendor and purchases hot dogs and beers for the two of them, blithely ignoring Dean’s protests.

“You’re a shit, you know that?”

“Mm.” Cas takes a bite of his hot dog, settling in to watch the game.

Dean is right; the spectators are sparse. They have some empty seats near them. They could probably move if they want to, but Cas likes this spot. 

“Did you play any sports as a kid?” Dean asks.

“No. I participated in track, long distances. I was not much of a social child.” He sees Dean’s mouth quirk upwards in a quickly suppressed grin. “Fair enough. I am not much of a social adult either.”

“I didn’t say anything. Long distances, huh?” Dean’s gaze drops to Cas’ thighs. The jeans he is wearing are tighter than the trousers he usually wears for work. Cas isn’t sure if he’s imagining the way Dean’s gaze lingers. Either way, it makes him feel warm. “You still run?”

“I do, when I can,” he admits. “I enjoy it.”

The batter hits the ball right into second base, creating an easy double play for the visiting team. Dean stands up and yells. Cas smiles to himself, deeply happy just being there in the lovely weather, listening to Dean talk about the players, the strategy, the opposing team, everything. He has such a wonderful voice.

This may just be the most enjoyable sporting event he has ever attended, and he’s not even sure what’s happening on the field.

 

Now that tax filing is done, Cas has a great deal more time on his hands. He uses some of this time — okay, more of this time than he should — working on Dean’s books. He wants to get this figured out, get Dean’s situation straightened out, so that it’s no longer a distraction for either of them.

He’s finished the deposits review, and has moved on to disbursements. Mostly it makes sense. He has the usual categories of expenses for a small business. Payroll, taxes, supplies, services. But something seems off on the supplies. He runs a few calculations, cataloging the parts that various repairs seem to use, plotting those against the frequency of those repairs on the service log, and against the ordering, and. Hm. They don’t line up right.

It’s a weekday, but near lunchtime. So he asks Dean to call him when he has time for a private conversation.

Cas taps his finger lightly against the keyboard of his computer. “I’ve been reviewing your books, and I have a couple questions about your suppliers. I’m seeing that most of your disbursements are to a handful of vendors. I get most of them, but it looks like Colfax and Wrightway Auto Requisitioning and Parts provide basically the same items?”

“Yeah, stuff we go through like candy. Colfax generally has better pricing, but sometimes they aren’t as good at managing their inventory so they don’t have what we need when we need it. Wrightway’s the backup supplier. They cost more but I can’t always afford to wait until Colfax gets the stock off of backorder.”

“Hm.”

“Why?”

“Oh, just curious. Thank you, Dean. I’ll be in touch.” He jots down a few notes, makes a few calculations. 

His instincts are poking at him. There’s something here. He knows there is. 

He just hasn’t figured out what.


	5. May

It’s been awhile since Cas has taken any time for himself, allowed himself to indulge in the things he enjoys. His brother Gabe reminded him of that when they spoke the other day, and successfully extracted a promise that Cas would get out and do something.

Today is a beautiful spring day, warm without being hot, flowers in bloom, the fresh scent of grass and plants after a rain drifting on the air. After work he decides to head to the next town over and visit his favorite bookstore. 

He feels a warm glow of contentment and satisfaction when he walks into Golden Age Used and Rare Books, the slightly musty scent of old paper and worn leather settling him in a way few other things do. The place is slightly shabby in the way that bookstores should be, with overstuffed chairs tucked into nooks of tall bookshelves overflowing with merchandise. 

He smiles to himself, reaching out to trail fingers over the spines of the nearest books.

Albert, the owner, flashes him a smile and a quick nod, but is  talking to a customer so he says nothing. Cas nods  back and wanders  towards the history and mythology section. These are more common books, openly available to be perused and admired. As always, there are so many that catch his eye. He’s almost salivating. Never mind that he has stacks of books at home that he hasn’t yet read, piled by the sofa and beside his bed. 

He hears the snick of the lock as Albert opens the glass cabinet. Curious, Cas moves enough so that he can see who’s serious enough about the books to ask to have the cabinet unlocked.

His eyes widen and his jaw drops when he recognizes Marv.  _ The _ Marv, that Cas has been nearly obsessed with. He draws on a pair of white cotton gloves before Albert hands him the showpiece of Albert’s merchandise — a rare first edition of Mark Twain’s ‘Huckleberry Finn’. Cas knows the book; he’s admired it since he first discovered this store, but it’s so far out of his price range as to be ridiculous. Thousands of dollars. As much as Cas loves books and literature, he can’t justify that kind of indulgence to himself. He wouldn’t have a safe place to keep it, and books are meant to be enjoyed, not locked away in a safe deposit box.

“This is beautiful,” Marv says to Albert, his tone reverent. 

“It is,” Albert agrees. “I hate to part with it, but businesses aren’t very successful if you can’t sell the merchandise.” There’s a chuckle in his tone.

“Have you heard anything more about the Gatsby you were telling me about last month?”

“The owner is still not certain she wants to sell, but expects to make a decision within the next couple weeks, after she finishes evaluating her options. It’s a sad situation. She cherishes the book, but if it goes to someone else who will appreciate it as much as she does, it would make the sale a little less painful. She won’t let it go if she can’t get the price she needs.”

“We could discuss that.” 

Cas moves out of the way, where he’s sure he won’t be seen, and pulls out his phone to check. And yes. A first edition Gatsby in fine to excellent condition also sells for thousands of dollars. There’s no way in hell that Marv can be a serious book collector on the salary Dean pays him. It doesn’t rule out inherited wealth, but as circumstantial evidence? One of the classic signs of fraud is living above one’s obvious means. 

He’s trembling with anger. It’s  _ wrong. _ How can anyone think it’s justifiable to steal from someone else to indulge themselves? Dean works  hard, he does great work, and he does right by his employees. Cas has been studying his financials enough to know that he takes less for himself in order to meet payroll. He knows that when Garth’s wife Bess had to quit her job unexpectedly to care for their sick newborn, Dean managed to find overtime hours for Garth to help them out until the baby was well enough for Bess to find a new job. 

He waits until Marv leaves with the Mark Twain book carefully wrapped and tucked under his arm before he emerges from the rear of the store with a small selection of books for himself. 

“So,” he asks when he trusts his voice again. “Good customer?”

“Marv? Mm, yes. He’s a collector, buys a few books every year. He’s particularly interested in classic American literature, first editions, though he’ll buy other types of works as well. I keep an eye out for works I know he’s looking for.”

“How long have you known him?”

“Oh, a few years now? He moved into the area about four years ago, I think. Used to live somewhere back east.”

Four years. That’s about when he started working for Dean. How soon did he start up this scheme, whatever it is? He’s close. Cas knows he’s close.

“Interesting.”

“He’s a nice guy, once you get to know him. A little standoffish, but passionate about the books. So. Just these for you today?”

“Yes, just these. Thanks, Albert. Hopefully it won’t be so long until the next time I see you.”

He puts the books in his car and considers heading back home again, but it’s a beautiful day for a run. He doesn’t have his running shoes with him, but he can at least take a walk. There’s a park by the river with a walking path and lots of trees, so it’s peaceful. 

His mind goes pleasantly blank while he’s outside and moving, nothing but himself and the water gently flowing downstream, gurgling where it catches  in a pile of stones, miniature waterfalls. A leaf from last fall gets caught between two stones, swirling in circles until it moves just enough to dislodge from the rocks and continue its journey.

In the distance he can hear children at the playground, shrieking and giggling. There’s a dog, barking in excitement. Maybe two dogs; not all of the barks are the same pitch. 

He’s not even thinking about Dean or his finances, not consciously. But suddenly everything coalesces in his mind, connections sparking. “Of course. It’s perfectly obvious, isn’t it? It all fits.” He smiles to himself, that bubbling feeling of satisfaction when he solves a puzzle filling him with a warm glow. “Now we just need to prove it.” He spins on his heel and heads back to his car, wheels turning, strategies falling into place.

 

“Hannah, may I speak to you for a moment in the conference room?”

Cas didn’t sleep well last night, checking and cross-checking his work to make sure it all hangs together. Nothing he sees makes him believe he’s wrong. But he needs to test his theory before he says anything to Dean. As much as he currently dislikes Marv, he is aware that he has a responsibility to be as sure as he can be before he takes any kind of action.

“What’s up?” Hannah asks. 

“I need you to do something for me. You may be aware I’ve been working on a special project for Dean Winchester.”

“Coffee and Donuts Dean?”

“Yes, that’s him. I think that one of his employees is embezzling from him, and I finally think I know how he’s doing it. But I need you to do something for me. I can’t bring my car in. He’s met me, and he may know that Dean and I are friends now.”

“Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” Hannah grins.

Cas feels his cheeks go warm, but he’s determined not to rise to her bait this time. “I want you to bring your car in for a service call.”

 

There is no reason to be nervous. There isn’t. He isn’t exactly a deep cover agent going to infiltrate some high powered drug cartel, or a mafia operation. All Castiel is doing is accompanying Hannah to pick up her car after having maintenance performed. 

All he is doing is counting on Hannah to sell the clueless patron well enough that Marv doesn’t end up suspecting anything.

Cas reaches up to loosen his tie.

“So here we are,” Hannah says, craning her neck to get a better view out the window. “The lair of the beast.”

“Hannah.”

She laughs. “Relax, Castiel. It will be fine. Did I ever tell you I had a role as Girl Number Two in my high school play?”

“Hannah.”

He pulls over half a block away from the shop. “You remember what you need to do?”

“Yes, I remember. And I’ll leave my phone on so you can hear everything.” She gets out of Cas’ car and comes around to his window, reaches through to pat his upper arm soothingly. “Relax.” She heads over to the entrance. He can see her car waiting outside, in a different spot from where she had originally left it last night. 

“Hello, may I help you?” Cas hears Marv greet her. 

“Hello,” Hannah says, her voice friendly and cheerful. “I’m here to collect my vehicle?”

“Okay, and the name?”

“Joseph. Hannah Joseph.”

There’s a pause, and some shuffling sounds, the clack of computer keys. “Here you go. Oil change, flush and fill, tire rotation, and checking the brakes?”

“Right.”

Cas hates that he can’t see what’s going on, and that the sounds are muffled. Still, he’s grateful that she left the connection open, so at least he has some idea what’s going on.

“Sign here, please.” 

“Do you have a pen?”

“Sure.”

“So check payable to Winchester Automotive Repair and Restoration?” Hannah is obviously reading from the invoice.

“Kind of a mouthful, isn’t it,” Marv says with a chuckle. “You can just make it out to W.A.R. if you prefer.”

“WAR. Yes, that is easier. Thank you.” 

“Our pleasure,” Marv says. “It’s our aim to please. Make sure you let us know if anything comes up.”

“I will.” Cas hears the jingle of keys. “Have a good evening.” He sees the door open again, and Hannah makes her way to her little green Volvo, conspicuously not looking in his direction. 

As soon as she pulls out she talks. “Told you I’d do fine.”

“Yes, yes you did,” Cas agrees. “I’ll see you back at the office, and we’ll document what happened. Thank you, Hannah. I appreciate this.”

“Anything for you, Cas,” she replies airily, but there’s also a warm fondness to her tone. “Hanging up now.” 

 

The check clears three days later. Hannah emails him the image. Cas pulls it up on his laptop, scrolls up to view the reverse of the document, and zooms in to read it better. “Bingo.”

He picks up his phone and texts Dean. 

_ CN: Hello Dean. Please give me a call when you have a moment. I believe I may have an update on the project I am working on for you. _

Dean doesn’t call back instantaneously, but it doesn’t take long. “Hey Cas.”

“Dean.”

“So you found something?”

“Yes. The subterfuge I engaged in was successful. When you have time, would you be able to come to my office and I can apprise you of the results?”

“I can be there in fifteen minutes. Just need to wash up.”

“I will be here.” 

Cas stands up, gathering the papers together. He looks at Hannah, the only one here right now, aware that his skin is flushed but hoping it’s not visible. Talking to Dean does that. “I will be using the conference room for an undetermined amount of time. No one else has any clients coming in soon, correct?”

“Nope,” Hannah says. “It’s all yours. Rachel is meeting with a client on site, and I’m doing my meeting over the phone, so we’re good.”

“Thank you.” He brings his laptop and the printouts he made into the conference room, taking the time to further organize his notes.

He is nervous, more nervous than he usually is for client meetings. Dean isn’t technically a client, of course, but the work is the work. Mostly he’s nervous because he knows this is going to be a difficult conversation and he knows that Dean is going to be unhappy. If he’s like most clients, he’s still hoping that he’s wrong. Cas hasn’t had a whole lot of embezzlement situations, but at the same time this isn’t his first. 

Dean arrives faster than his promised time. “You got here quickly,” Cas observes.

“Yeah, I did. I can move pretty fast when I need to.” He smiles, but the smile is wan and uncertain.

“Come on in.” Cas holds the door to the conference room open, then closes it behind them. He sits down, waits for Dean to do likewise. “Would you like something to drink? We have water, soda, coffee. But I think you’ve already been advised of the quality of the coffee here, so I wouldn’t recommend it unless you’re desperate.”

Dean’s mouth twists in a weak imitation of a smile. “I’m good. Or maybe I’ll need something more along the lines of a couple shots of whisky, depending on what you’ve got for me.”

“If you need the whisky, I’ll buy after we’re finished,” Cas solemnly promises. 

“I’m going to hold you to that. So lay it on me, Cas.”

Cas nods. “Do you remember when I asked you about your suppliers?”

“Yeah.”

“Well. The reason that I asked was because I had noticed an odd pattern with one of them -- Wrightway Auto Requisitioning and Parts. When I started doing an analysis by vendor, their invoice numbers did not fit the pattern predicted by Benford’s Law. Rather than being a downward sloping curve as the law describes, the invoice numbers were irregular. The invoice details were also curious in their amounts. Then it occurred to me. The acronym for Wrightway Auto Requisitioning and Parts is W.A.R.P. -- and the acronym for your business is W.A.R.R. Possibly coincidental, but interesting.”

Dean’s brow wrinkles. He reaches out to look at one of the invoices more carefully. “Yeah. It is.”

“I’ve also prepared a comparison between the Wrightway orders and those from your main supplier, and compared payment dates to invoice dates. Then I did a search on the internet for Wrightway. There is a website, but it’s not a sophisticated one and does not look to be regularly maintained.”

“Charlie could look into that. The magic she can work on the internet is amazing. I don’t ask too many questions about how she does what she does, but she’s good. Scary good.”

Cas hums thoughtfully. “That would be a good idea, though I think we have enough without that to go to the police and talk to whoever handles white collar crime.”

“Fuck,” Dean breathes. “Really? Do we have to go to the police? Couldn’t I just fire him and tell him to get the hell out of town?”

“You could. But that would leave him free to do the same to some other person down the road. Also, though I haven’t done a comprehensive analysis at this point, I am estimating that he has stolen tens of thousands of dollars from you over the years.”

“Son of a bitch.” He taps his fingers on the table top.  “Okay, so you’re saying you think Wrightway is a shell company and all of the checks I’ve written to them have gone to Marv’s pocket?”

“Yes. The evidence is quite strong.”

“What does that have to do with you getting service done, though?”

“Well, that's also… interesting. I deliberately asked Hannah to pay by check rather than credit card, because I would think that you should be receiving at least some of your regular customer payments by check, but the deposits seem to be mostly credit and large checks. The proportion of smaller checks seemed low, based on what I see from other clients. When Hannah was prepared to pay, he suggested that Winchester Automotive Repair and Restoration was kind of a long name, and if she wanted she could make it payable to W.A.R. Which she did.” He presents Hannah’s checkbook, opened to the duplicate of the check she’d written.

“The check has since cleared the bank.” He pulls out the printout he’d made, and shows it to Dean. It was made out to W.A.R.P.

“Son of a bitch!” Dean pushes the chair back and stands, the veins on his neck standing out, his eyes fierce, his hands clenching and unclenching into fists. “If that bastard was here right now I’d … I’d punch him right in the face. Bust his nose.”

Cas lets him rant, understanding that he needs to release some of his anger and the sense of betrayal. Knowing Dean, the betrayal stings more. There are few things worse than discovering that someone you counted on, trusted, and thought has your interests at heart simply doesn’t. Being used or taken advantage of hurts, plain and simple. No matter what the context. 

“There’s more. The checks you made payable to Wrightway have the same bank coding on the back of them as this one I wrote. I wouldn’t be surprised if cash payments also had a habit of not being deposited appropriately, but there’s little way to tell without reconstructing your transactions — which is difficult, since not everything was properly recorded.”

“Of course not. Fuck. Just… fuck.”

Cas lets Dean process that. When he meets his gaze again, his eyes are sharp and hard, the soft green now brittle. “Okay. So you said we call the cops.”

“Yes, and make an appointment. They may or may not be available to see us immediately. This is not a violent crime -- though I would still recommend not giving up any information to Marv. People react unpredictably when cornered.”

“And he could go postal on us.” Dean shudders. “Yeah. Not gonna let that happen. Okay. We talk to the cops and let them tell us next steps.” He creases a corner of the check copy, then unfolds it and smooths the fold. “You think I’ll get any of the money back?”

“Some, perhaps. Not likely all. You may never know how much it has been, though we can come up with an estimate.”

“I need… I need to call Sam. Told you he’s a lawyer, didn’t I? He’s not this kind of a lawyer, but he’ll still know something about it.”

And would help Dean to deal with this, went unsaid. “Please. Go ahead. I’ll give you a little privacy, and call the police, if you’re good with that.”

“Yeah, yeah. Makes sense. It’s the right thing to do.”

Cas steps out of the office and makes the call. While he’s speaking to the representative from the Cherryvale Police Department he tries not to watch Dean through  the windows. Dean  paces while he speaks on the phone, occasionally gesturing with his free hand, sometimes running fingers through his short hair. Every bit of his body language is screaming how upset he is. Gradually the pacing slows down and his gesturing decreases in amplitude. Cas still wants to give him a hug.

He can imagine how that would go over. Maybe it would be all right, but more likely it would be the epitome of awkwardness.

He needs to stop thinking of things like that. 

Cas wraps up his conversation first, but Dean isn’t far behind. Dean puts his phone back in his pocket and turns slowly towards the door, rubbing the back of his neck. Cas returns to the room. “Detective Mills is able to meet with us right away, if you’re ready.”

“Yeah. Sammy isn’t an expert on this kind of stuff, but he agrees with you. That I need to press charges rather than just fire him. He said thanks, too. He’d like to chat with you sometime, get more information about what you found, see if there’s any additional advice he can provide.”

“I would be happy to talk to him.” After picking up the folder of evidence and carefully placing it in his briefcase, he turns towards Dean. “Would you like me to drive? Or we could walk. City Hall is near.” The police department headquarters is located in the same building. 

“Walk sounds good.” Dean nods briskly, apparently deciding to shove his emotions down and focus on the business that needs to be taken care of. 

 

Cas has never actually been to a police station before, not inside. When he’s been involved in fraud cases before the detectives came to him, or sometimes lawyers. Once when he was in third grade his class took a field trip to the local police station, but he’d been ill that day and unable to participate. He remembers being disappointed. He’s always been fascinated with such things. 

The Cherryvale police station is small compared to what he’s seen on television. He and Dean walk into the front office, where a woman with short dark hair and a friendly smile looks at them. She has a police badge pinned to her waist, but otherwise doesn’t look particularly like a hard-boiled police detective. “Hey, are you Castiel Novak? I’m Detective Jody Mills. Pleased to meet you.”

“Pleased to meet you as well. Yes, I’m Castiel Novak, and this is Dean Winchester, the owner I mentioned.”

“Dean.” She shakes both of their hands with a firm, warm grip. “Come on back, guys, and we’ll have a little chat.”

The conference room is simple and utilitarian, with blue flecked plastic bucket chairs and a white laminated table. Cas takes out his file of evidence and sets it down in front of himself, squaring it to the edge.

Dean smiles tightly, carrying his shoulders too high. Cas wishes he could help him to relax, but what would he even do? Staying calm and grounded himself is likely the best thing he can do for his friend.

“So on the phone you mentioned that you think one of Dean’s employees has been stealing from him.”

“Yes,” Cas acknowledges, glancing again at Dean. He shifts forward, opening the folder. “As I mentioned, I’m an accountant. I’m not technically in Dean’s employ. He came to me after a presentation I did for the Cherryvale Small Business Owners’ Association with concerns that some of the scenarios I presented sounded alarmingly familiar. I offered to take a look at his financial records to see if any of his concerns were justified. This spreadsheet lays out what I found.”

Detective Mills pulls the file over and starts flipping through it. Cas starts to perspire. He put together the Excel spreadsheets in as logical and organized a fashion as he could, the summary spreadsheet on the top, with cross-references to supporting documentation laid out clearly. There are worksheets detailing Dean’s expected cash flows based on the clients and services he performed, both revenues and expenses, contrasted against the actual cash flows supported by banking records. The difference between the two is striking. 

There is another section detailing the interactions specifically with Wrightway, including the check copy and the copy of Hannah’s duplicate. 

The time that Detective Mills takes to review the worksheets seems to take forever. Cas looks sideways at Dean. His knee is bouncing under the table, and he’s playing with one of the pens Cas laid out next to his file folder. 

She looks over at him, raises a brow. “You can pace if you’d like,” she says. “It won’t bother me. I know the waiting can be nerve-wracking.” 

“I’m okay,” Dean lies.

Detective Mills’ mouth twists in a wry smile, but she drops it. 

“This is pretty solid,” she finally says. “Definitely enough to bring to the judge and get a search warrant.”

“How long does that take?” Dean asks.

“Depends on how busy the judge is. I’d like to take care of it today, then head over to Mr. Johnson’s house with a few of my people and see what we can find.”

“Would you arrest him?”

“Not right away, no, not for this sort of white collar crime. We’d have to review what we find with the search warrant in order to determine if there’s enough to press charges. But as soon as we show up with the search warrant he’s going to know something’s going on, and we’ll likely serve him with an order to stay in the area at the same time. We’ll see if he has any outstanding warrants anywhere else. If he does, then we’ll have reason to detain him.” She closes the file and looks at Cas. “May I keep this?”

“Of course. I have a copy of my work, that one is for you.”

“Thanks. I think that’s all we need for now. We’ll definitely be in touch, and I’ll keep you updated. Do you have any other questions for me?”

“My brother’s a lawyer, though he’s not local and this isn’t his specialty. He may have some questions.”

“That’s fine, he can call and I’ll be happy to talk to him. This may take some time. You’ll want to talk to a lawyer anyhow, find out what your options are with respect to employment law. Once the search warrant happens, there’s a chance he’d do what he can to eliminate any evidence in your office, so I’d be careful about letting him into your systems at this point.”

“Oh, that’s … yeah. I suppose I should put him on involuntary leave until this is resolved?”

“Talk to your lawyer about that. It’s not my area of expertise. But if it was me, I’d strongly consider that.”

“Thank you for your time, Detective,” Cas says, shaking her hand again. “We appreciate what you’re doing.”

“It’s my job. We’ll do our best for you, and keep you posted. Now… maybe go get a drink or two? I’m sure this has been a difficult day.”

“Hell yeah.” Dean’s response is heartfelt.

 

After wrapping it up with the detective, Dean looks drained. Cas hesitates, then reaches out to touch his arm. “Would… would you like to get a drink? We should talk to Charlie, but we could stop for a drink first.”

“Charlie. Yeah, we need to talk to her. Why don’t we stop and buy a couple six packs and then go to her place? I’d rather be somewhere more private. Don’t want to talk about this anywhere that someone might overhear us, and I don’t want to have to filter everything I want to say, either. Not a strong point.”

“Yes, of course. Will she be open to having guests on such short notice?”

Dean snorts. “Hell yeah.” He pulls out his phone. “Hey there Red. Cas came up with the smoking gun, so everything’s going down tonight…. Yeah, we did…. I know, why do you think I’m calling you? … We’ll be there in twenty. Order us some pizzas? We’ll bring the beer… yeah, right back at you. See you then.”

Charlie walks up and wraps Dean in an embrace when they enter her house, resting her head against his chest and holding him. “It’s not your fault.”

“I shoulda known.”

“It’s not your fault. Sure, with hindsight there are ways you could have known. But trusting someone doesn’t make you a bad person. It makes  _ them _ a bad person for not deserving that trust.”

“The police are going after a search warrant. May have already done it. Detective Mills is hoping to execute the warrant as soon as she can.” Dean sounds discouraged.

Cas feels helpless. He wants to comfort him like Charlie is, but is quite certain his efforts would not be received with the same welcome. 

“Pizza should be here in about fifteen. I’ll put the beer in the fridge. Hey, Cas.” 

Charlie takes the beers and brings them into the kitchen while Dean makes himself comfortable on the sofa. Cas looks around and chooses to sit on the other end of the sofa, because it looks like Charlie is set up in the armchair again, with her laptop resting on a small table beside it, the lid open. She returns with a beer for each of them. 

“So tell me all about this,” she says, pulling her laptop closer. “You want me to dig into a few things? Tell me what you know.”

By the time the pizza arrives and gets consumed, she confirms that Wrightway doesn’t exist except on paper, and also finds that Marv’s employment history isn’t exactly what he’d said it was when Dean hired him. 

Dean is having perhaps a few too many beers and obviously feeling rather miserable.

Cas finally shifts over to him and sets the latest beer bottle away from him. “Dean. Stop,” he says. “I have said before and I will say it again until you believe me. This is not your fault. I would imagine your brother said something similar to you  when you spoke with him.”

“Well…”

“I will take that as a yes. People who commit fraud like this are good at it. Marv is not as sophisticated as some case studies that I have read, but that is likely why his efforts are directed towards a small sole proprietorship in a field that is not financially oriented. He was counting on your passion for cars, and your distaste for the bookkeeping side of your business. You had no reason to be suspicious of him, and yet you were still uncomfortable. Your instincts served you well. Your kind soul and desire to see the best in people ran counter to that — but that is not a bad thing. It isn’t.” Cas reaches out to lightly touch Dean’s knee. “You are a good person who was taken advantage of, and now you are doing the right thing to help keep the same thing from happening to someone else.”

Charlie nods. “What he said, dude. You should talk to Bobby about it, too.”

“What, are you kidding me? Tell him that I let some asshole steal thousands of dollars from us?”

“Dean, he’s not going to blame you for it. He won’t.”

“I would.”

“You would blame yourself, yes, but would you blame Bobby if he was still running the shop?” She arches a brow at him.

“What? No.”

She rolls her eyes. “I rest my case.”

She changes the subject then, easing the tension and giving Dean time to absorb without making him participate. She chatters on about movies, her action figures, the quality of the pizza, the steady flow of conversation somehow relaxing rather than annoying. Gradually Dean relaxes again. When his phone rings, he accepts the call. “Thank you, Detective,” he solemnly says after listening for a bit, then hangs up again. “So. They got the search warrant, and apparently there’s an outstanding warrant on him from somewhere in Arkansas. Similar charges, so guess I’m not the first patsy he snookered. He’s in jail.”

Cas squeezes Dean’s shoulder in support, his breath hitching when Dean leans into it. 

Charlie comes over and drops a kiss to the top of his head. “Love you, dude. Now get home and get some sleep. And make sure you show up on Saturday for game night. Gilda’s going to be in town.” She flicks her gaze to Cas. “That’s my girlfriend. She’s a flight attendant, doing some overseas trips right now, but she’s going to be home more soon, and I’m just so excited.”

“Congratulations,” Cas said. “Is that the correct response? Sometimes I don’t get that quite right. It’s quite frustrating at times.”

She smiles. “Yeah, it’s a great response. Thanks.” She pats Dean’s shoulder. “Up.”

“Yeah.” He stands. “Okay, Cas, let’s blow this joint. And thanks. Both of you.” 

 

Cas finds it challenging to concentrate at work the next day. He knows that Dean will be breaking the news to his employees, and that it will be a difficult morning for him. He bites his lip. Would an offer for lunch be welcome? Or would it be assuming a closer relationship than they actually have? He doesn’t want to intrude where he isn’t wanted.

He  _ really _ doesn’t want to intrude where he isn’t wanted, especially not with Dean. He might try and pretend to himself that it’s because it is embarrassing, or even humiliating, but if he is brutally honest, it’s because it would hurt. Being around Dean more hasn’t worked to dissipate his crush. If anything it’s stronger and deeper as he learns that Dean isn’t just gorgeous and friendly and everything Cas wants to be but isn’t. 

Dean isn’t perfect. Dean has doubts about himself, worries about his adequacy, enjoys things that Cas isn’t interested in, enjoys things that Cas is learning to enjoy because Dean is sharing his passion for them. Sometimes he has a temper, and he has higher expectations of himself than he has of others. 

Those imperfections make him more human, more real. Not just a perfect creature on a pedestal, but someone who suffers doubts and insecurities himself. Cas wants to learn more about those imperfections, wants to help soothe over the doubts and insecurities.

But what if as far as Dean is concerned, Cas is no more and no less than a new friend, a casual friend, someone who’s been useful but not someone he plans to make room for in his life?

He’s overthinking things again. He always overthinks things. It’s a simple invitation to lunch. If Dean doesn’t want to go, he can just say no.

Before he can talk himself out of it, Cas types out a quick text. 

_ CN: Hello Dean. I hope the talk with your staff went well, under the circumstances. Would you be open to joining me for lunch? My treat. _

He puts his phone face down on his desk, not sure how long it might be before Dean will respond. If he responds.

It takes less than five minutes.

_ DW: Hey Cas. Lunch isn’t going to work; I need to be around here today. Everyone’s bummed and I can’t just ditch. I’m ordering in for everyone.  _

Before Cas’ disappointment can take hold too deeply and lead into convincing himself that Dean is using an excuse to let him down gently, his phone buzzes again.

_ DW: What about dinner? It’s Friday, and I don’t have to work tomorrow. Garth usually handles the weekends.  _

Cas smiles, relieved. Considers his options before he decides to take a risk.

_ DW: Dinner would be wonderful. I’ll cook. My repertoire is limited, but the few things I make, I make well. _

_ DW: Deal. I can be there about 7:30. _

 

Cas leaves work early to stop at the grocery store and the butcher on the way home. Benford greets him at the door. “Hello, Benford. Yes, I’m home early. I am hosting Dean for dinner tonight.”  

“Mrrow.”

“Yes, I know. He’s had a difficult day, though, so please be on your best behavior for him.”

Cas puts the groceries away, leaving the steaks out to prepare with his favorite marinade. He lives in an apartment so a proper grill isn’t an option, but the broiler works. Steaks, take-and-bake bread, roasted potatoes and asparagus should make an adequate meal. 

“I shouldn’t be nervous,” he says to the cat while he tidies up the apartment. “Dean has been here before. So why am I nervous?”

Benford licks his paw then uses it to wash behind his ears. “You’re tired of listening to me, is that it?”

Dean texts shortly before he arrives, which allows Cas to finish setting the table and get the food started. Then he worries if maybe this meal is too suggestive. If this is just two friends enjoying each other’s company, maybe something more casual than steak is in order? Pizza, burgers, something less expensive and elaborate? Do steaks automatically imply romantic interest? And if so, is that a bad thing? 

He’s saved from his second, third, and fourth thoughts by the door chime. 

“Hello, Dean. Come on in.” 

“Thanks, Cas. I brought beer.” He lifts up the six-pack he holds in his left hand — a craft variety. “It’s got honey in it. You said you liked bees, once upon a time, so I thought it might be cool.” He’s carrying a white box in the other hand.

“Oh, thank you, that is very thoughtful.” He remembered about the bees! “What’s in the box?”

“That’s a surprise.”

Cas makes a face. 

Dean catches the look and chuckles. “Not a fan of surprises, are you?”

“Most of the surprises I have been the recipient of were initiated by my older brother Gabriel, and consisted of such joys as spinach flavored jelly beans, underwear laundered with red shirts, and whoopie cushions slipped on my seat while we were standing at church services.”

Dean snorts at that one. 

“It was mortifying, Dean. The entire congregation turned to look at me, led by Gabriel himself. He had a remarkable knack for avoiding the consequences of his actions.”

“Well, this surprise isn’t a whoopie cushion. So you should be good.” He sets the box on the counter.

“Please, make yourself comfortable. You remember where the bathroom is, I hope?”

“Yeah. Through that door right over there.” Dean rubs his hands on the back of his jeans. “Anything I can do to help?”

“Mm, if you would like to put the glasses out, they’re in that cupboard.” 

Dean gets out the glasses and sets them on the table. Cas looks at him after sliding the steaks under the broiler. “You don’t need to talk about it if you don’t want to, but… how did telling everyone go? If you want to discuss it.”

Dean’s hand stills, then he finishes adjusting the placement of the dishes, fussing with the forks. He runs his hand through his hair. “Okay. I mean, it wasn’t easy. I called everyone together in the service bay, told them some of the details. Took responsibility for it. They were shocked, angry… about what you’d expect. It’ll take a while to process. God knows I haven’t entirely processed it yet.”

“The only person who should be taking responsibility for it is Marv,” Cas says firmly. 

“No. My business, everything is ultimately my responsibility.”

“We will have to agree to disagree on that.” 

Soon Cas is serving up the steaks and the rest of the meal, nervously hoping it will meet with Dean’s approval. He sits down, then remembers he hasn’t brought out the beer, gets up to pick a couple from the fridge. After he sits down again he remembers the butter for the bread.

“You’re flittering,” Dean points out.

“I’m what?”

“Flittering. Moving around a lot. You nervous, Cas?”

Fuck. “It’s that obvious?” He sighs, grips the back of one of the chairs. “I’m sorry.”

“No worries, just… you know you don’t have to be nervous around me, right? It’s just me.”

If only he knew. Still, how would he possibly know? Cas has never given him any indication that he’s interested in getting to know Dean more than as a monthly acquaintance at the Cherryvale Small Business Owners’ Association meetings and casual friend.

Intellectually he knows that relationships are built on give and take. Give a little, receive a little, give a little more, gradually make it into something larger and more important. 

Intellectual understanding and actually implementing the theory are two entirely different things. Still, this is a golden opportunity. He might never have another if he fucks this up. So he has to stick his toe into the pool of human interactions with a person he finds incredibly attractive, incredibly appealing.

Cas takes a sip of his beer. The beer helps, a little. He can feel the warmth of the alcohol spreading through his limbs, making him feel more relaxed, heated, the slightest bit floaty. 

He sets the glass down and meets Dean’s gaze across the table. “I’ve never been particularly good at relationships. Even family relationships. I’m really only on speaking terms with one of my six brothers. Gabriel is quite the opposite of me. He can strike up conversations with anyone and make them equally fond of and annoyed with him inside the space of five minutes. He’s loud and obnoxious and irrepressible, and he’s the only one who didn’t turn his back on me after another of my brothers discovered me kissing another boy in the shed behind our garage.”

Dean’s eyes widen fractionally at that revelation, and Cas finds himself sweating bullets. If he’s miscalculated, if Dean is as religiously conservative and homophobic as the Novak family was, this will be an implosion. He doesn’t think that is the case. Hell, Dean is friends with Charlie, who has rather clearly announced her own orientation. Still, it wouldn’t be the first time Cas has catastrophically misread another person’s opinions. 

Dean takes a breath, leans forward slightly. Cas can see a faint sheen of perspiration along his hairline, and a flush of color pinking his cheeks. “That sucks, dude. I mean, I’m pretty sure my dad wouldn’t have reacted well to me being bi. He died before I came to terms with it enough to admit it to myself, let alone anyone else. But man, I don’t know that he would have kicked me out of his life. Might have. He definitely had strong ideas of what being a man meant. So maybe instead of kicking me out he would have just made my life hell over half of that equation. Guess we’ll never know.”

Cas can hardly breathe, but covers it by lifting his beer to his mouth. Then, realizing what sort of a phallic gesture that is, he sets it down so abruptly that it thunks on the table.

He feels hot and cold at the same time. Dean Winchester is bisexual. Dean is  _ bi _ . Which means that Dean is not inherently off limits. 

His mind can’t entirely keep up with the swing of his internal pendulum. 

“You okay there, Cas?” 

Cas looks up again. “Sorry. My apologies.”

A flicker of hurt spikes in Dean’s eyes, and he pulls back into himself. “Gotta say, didn't think I’d get that reaction out of you after what you just said about yourself.”

“What?” Cas is genuinely confused. “Oh. Oh, no. No. I am not… no. I am not reacting negatively, Dean. Quite entirely the opposite. I had no idea, and… and…” He hates this about himself, hates how sometimes his awkwardness peaks at the truly worst time.

And then there is the fear. Just because Dean is into men globally does not at all mean that Cas himself is interesting to him. 

Dean relaxes again, and gives Cas the space he needs to pull himself together enough to continue.

“I have never been anything other than awkward around people I find attractive,” he finally mumbles. “Convincing myself that friendship was the only option on the table is something of a survival mechanism, I suppose.”

There is no mistaking the pleasure in Dean’s expression now. “You think I’m hot?” 

“God. This is mortifying, I hope you realize.”

Dean laughs, warmth and amusement showing in the crinkles at the corners of his eyes and the delicious smile. That mouth. That mouth would be the death of him. No one has a smile quite like Dean Winchester’s. “I’m flattered, Cas, really. Relax.” His expression shifts from amused to calculating in the blink of an eye. Then, abruptly, he half rises from his seat, leans across the table, and kisses him.

Dean. Kisses him.

Objectively it isn’t much of a kiss. It’s a soft press of his lips against the corner of Castiel’s mouth, over almost before it begins. But it is a kiss, and as a symbol it is unmistakable.

“Oh.” 

Dean smiles, a smile that is overwhelmingly cocksure. Cas is starting to understand that the more cocky Dean’s expression, the less confident he is actually feeling. “Feeling any less mortified?”

Cas laughs. “Actually… yes. Still overwhelmed. But not mortified.”

“That was okay, though, right? I mean, just because you’re into dudes doesn’t necessarily mean you’re into me. I shouldn’t make that assumption. I mean, it’s one thing going for a hookup in a bar. Then you make a move that isn’t welcome, you find out and you move on. Person’s basically a stranger, so no biggie. Lots of fish in the sea, and when you don’t have too many limits on what kind of fish you like, there are lots and lots and lots of fish. Freshwater fish, saltwater fish, shellfish. Tuna, salmon. Flounder. Halibut. Lots of kinds of fish.”

“Interesting.”

“What? My taste in seafood?”

“No. That you talk more than usual when you’re uncertain. It’s quite fascinating.”

“Yeah, I do. You still haven’t said if it’s okay.”

“I haven’t? In that case… yes, Dean. It’s okay.” His cheeks hurt from how hard he’s blushing. He catches his lower lip between his teeth, debating with himself if he should say anything more. Perhaps just a little more. Dean took the risk of initiating that tiny kiss, after all.

So Cas holds Dean’s gaze. “It is more than okay. I have found you attractive since we first met.” Toe in the water, here. He can communicate that much without admitting he’s been crushing hard since that first day. 

“Yeah?” The color on Dean’s cheeks is rather high as well. “Awesome.” He stabs his fork at a chunk of potato, chasing it around his plate. “You know how Charlie made a point out of staking out the recliner at her place when we went over there?”

“Yes?”

“That’s why. She knows I’m bi. She knows I’ve been kinda crushing on you since about the second Association meeting you were at.”

Cas smiles then, a warm feeling bubbling in his chest that is a strange mix of joy and nerves and relief. “Well then. I have you beat by a month. You were so kind to me that first meeting, and… okay. Hot.” He lifts his chin defiantly.

Dean laughs. “So we’re both a couple of idiots.”

“It seems that way.”

Dean puts his fork down and pushes away from the table. “This is really great, the food is terrific, but…” He stands up and holds his hand out towards Cas.

Cas tips his head to the side, confused but willing to go along with it, and places his hand in Dean’s. The warmth and sparks that tingle along his nerve endings are a fizzy pleasure, especially when Dean’s rough fingers close around his, and lightly tug. Cas stands up.

Dean moves into his personal space, bringing his mouth to Cas’ ear, his breath ghosting over his cheek, his jaw, warm and faintly fragrant with beer and parsley buttered potatoes, before his lips brush against the side of Cas’ mouth. “I need to do this,” he murmurs, and then his lips settle over Cas’, the kiss light but firm. Cas makes a strangled sound as his blood rushes straight south, swaying on his feet. Dean chuckles and deepens the kiss.

It’s sunlight and happiness and dark smoothness, all wrapped together like a spiced truffle. “Dean.” When Cas moans his name, Dean flicks his tongue against the seam of his lips. Cas’ hand tightens in Dean’s, the other coming up to grasp the fabric of his shirt. He leans into the kiss, slants his head to the side to make it easier to breathe.

The kiss continues like that for endless moments, not quite chaste, but not diving into the sexual, either. It’s perfect. And when it’s over Cas looks slightly up into Dean’s beautiful, beautiful eyes, sparkling with pleasure, smiling with warmth and an echo of Cas’ happiness. 

On the sofa, Benford stretches before curling into a ball, unnoticed and perfectly content to be so.


	6. Epilogue

Dean gets to the community room door first, and holds it open for Cas, flashing him a grin. “After you. Age before beauty.”

Cas gives him a flat look. “You know, that would be more effective if I didn’t agree with you completely. You really are quite beautiful.” 

He manages not to show any of his inner delight at the way Dean’s cheeks go red when he gets flustered. It’s one of the things he loves about him. He feels a little thrill that he can think that without any hint of guilt or apprehension or embarrassment. 

He lets his face relax into a smile. Dean laughs and bumps his shoulder into Cas’.

Charlie is already there, sitting at their usual table. “Hey guys,” she says, scooting over slightly as they take their seats. “How’d it go?”

“It went well, I would say.”

“Yeah, as well as it could,” Dean agrees. “Sammy told me what to expect, but it was still something. My palms were sweating and my heart was racing. When I was a kid I was terrified of getting hauled in front of a judge. Guess that doesn’t ever leave you, even if you’re not the one in trouble.”

Cas reaches over under the table to lightly rub Dean’s thigh. Dean presses his foot against Cas’.

“So what happened?”

“He tried to get out of it at first, but then our lawyer laid out everything we had on him, and even Marv could see that it was damning. So he talked with his lawyer in private for a bit, then came back to the judge's’ chambers and offered a deal, which we rejected, and we went back and forth a few times. Offer, counter-offer. He has sixty days to make restitution of the amount the judge allowed, which is more than I expected. He also has to enter a ‘guilty’ plea, because I’m not going to let him get off without that. It needs to be in his record so it’s harder to pull this shit on someone else down the road. If he makes restitution he doesn’t have to serve any jail time. If he doesn’t, he serves two years in jail, a minimum of three months before he’s eligible for parole.”

“What about his previous victims?”

Cas makes a dissatisfied sound. “We weren’t able to do anything about that, because those events didn’t take place in this jurisdiction.”

“Hm.” Charlie’s eyes narrow and she taps her fingers on the table. “I’m thinking that in the next day or two some of those people may be receiving an anonymous email with a news clipping about this guilty plea, and perhaps a little extra information about how he got away with it as long as he did.”

“Which might just be enough for them to piece together a strong enough case against him to bring charges themselves. Charlie, I love you.” Dean kisses her loudly on the cheek.

“I know,” she says with a grin.

Missouri steps up to the speaker's’ podium and casts her gaze around the room. “Good evening, everyone. Welcome to this month’s meeting of the Cherryvale Small Business Owners’ Association. We have a full program tonight that I’m certain you’ll all enjoy, so let’s get started!”

 

Castiel Novak has a love-hate relationship with the Cherryvale Small Business Owners’ Association.

On the one hand, he continues to reap the benefits of knowing others in the local business community. More importantly, he’s made friends, good friends. And, he’s daring to hope, the love of his life.

On the other hand, going to the meetings takes away from time he could be kissing Dean Winchester.


End file.
